


A Family Lost In Snow-Covered Lands (But Baby, You've Been Here All Along)

by ohmygoshwhatascream



Series: Xenoblade Ship Week 2020 [4]
Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: ADHD Reyn (Xenoblade Chronicles), Angst, Anxiety, Autistic Shulk (Xenoblade Chronicles), Dyslexic Reyn (Xenoblade Chronicles), Family Feels, Fluff, Gay Shulk (Xenoblade Chronicles), Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Fiora (Xenoblade Chronicles), Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Panic Attacks, Reyn is implied to be bisexual, Slice of Life, but yeah they're there, endgame spoilers, the spoilers are only implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygoshwhatascream/pseuds/ohmygoshwhatascream
Summary: They grow up together, him and Reyn. Side by side. Reyn, Shulk and Fiora.It is the three of them, always, for they have made their promises of forever, and they do not intend to break them.Although, as time passes, Shulk learns that his feelings for Reyn are more complicated than he had originally thought.Written for Xenoblade Ship Week 2020.Prompt: Family/Anxiety
Relationships: Reyn/Shulk (Xenoblade Chronicles)
Series: Xenoblade Ship Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781698
Comments: 20
Kudos: 74





	A Family Lost In Snow-Covered Lands (But Baby, You've Been Here All Along)

**Author's Note:**

> lmao sorry i cannot write short things i have an inability. i have lost my power so pls take this 25k word vomit. hope yall enjoy x heheh this is the longest oneshot ive ever written damn
> 
> NOTE: This fic was NOT double-checked using grammaly, like all my other fics usually are. It literally would NOT function with this fic so PLEASE tell me if you catch any serious spelling errors that need fixing.

When Shulk was much, much younger, he had never gotten along with Reyn. 

Back before they were friends, back in those years when Reyn had been too loud and brash and bold; when Shulk had simply seen him as the boy who did not show up to his lessons, who refused to do his work. The one who slept in the back of the classroom simply because _he could_ , who did not seem to understand _anything;_ the boy who never seemed to care that he would fail all of his tests, get his class assignments given back with big red crosses and rarely ever one tick. Back when Reyn was _stupid._ When Shulk would laugh with the other kids when he had to read out loud, when his words would not come out; when his page would become alive with dancing letters, ones that jumped about; moved from left to right and down and up, words that never stayed in the same place and words that he could not read. That was _stupid._ How would the letters on his paper move around like that? It was just an excuse, a reason as to why he can't read the books that other kids - _younger than him_ \- can read with almost no trouble at all. 

And Shulk had laughed at him from his quiet corner, laughed with all the other children when Reyn mixed up his letters on paper and added words that were not there. He had hated the boy who had hair like fire and a voice like thunder, who was too loud and too cocky and _annoying,_ and he had stayed far, far away.

Reyn would walk home surrounded by others, for although he could not read he could run the fastest and he would climb the highest trees on their playground. He did not seem to care when the other children laughed at him, for he would laugh back and perhaps that made it all okay. 

He would shout and laugh with all of his other friends and they would race through the streets of Colony 9, their bags slung haphazardly over their shoulders and their hollers and screeches echoing down the tightly wound streets. 

Shulk would come home from school, his bag slung over his shoulders, and he would walk home alone.

Afterwards, he would complain to an apathetic Dickson; Shulk's 'father' who never quite lived up to his title, the one who was there, but never _there_ enough, no matter how hard he tried to be, (although he did not try very hard, not until Shulk was older; easier for Dickson - who, as a general rule, disliked most children) and he would feel no better about Reyn. Like fire, he would consume Shulk's thoughts, burning away in the back of his mind, ash thick and heavy in his head and anger bubbling every time they crossed paths. He could not ignore Reyn, even though Dickson had told him many a time to simply turn the other cheek, for with Reyn came noise, came chaos, and no matter how hard Shulk tried to look away his eyes would always be drawn back.

Perhaps Reyn is like fire, in the sense that its umber flames, so bold and bright and exuding a heat like no other, draw you closer, draw you in. It is impossible to ignore, impossible to turn away as the golden flames lick the very air, ripples of heat blurring the very edges of the world. But much like fire, Reyn was also like the smoke, thick and choking, that would blow into your eyes. Sting, burn at your eyeballs until tears would stream down your cheeks and your skin would burn like you yourself were on fire. Perhaps that is Reyn. For he is bold and bright like those flames and Shulk cannot help but look, yet it burns and hurts and Shulk feels anger curl in his gut every time that smoke hits his eyes. 

And it is after a few months of this, when Dickson grows impatient with the neverending complaints and Shulk's scowls from the other side of the dinner table, that he sits there, a large hand rubbing at aching temples, a cigarette held half to his lips, smoke curling around his ears, and he asks in that gruff rumble of his; 

"Why do you hate him so much?"

And it is then that Shulk freezes, fork frozen halfway to his mouth, eyes blown wide and cheeks flaming red, that he shoves his chair back and bolts upstairs. The fork clatters to the table, his food forgotten. Dickson merely watches him go, he does not even raise an eyebrow. He has never been good with children, never fond of the strange ways their minds work, nor does he care for their mood swings and tantrums. Whatever it is, Shulk can stew on it for a while. He'll get hungry, sooner or later, and come back down to finish his food. Besides, Dickson wants to be careful. He doesn't want to get too attached.

But Shulk, who had made his escape to the confines of his bedroom, knows why Reyn gets under his skin so. Deep, down in his heart of hearts, he knows why he is angry, why Reyn somehow manages to push all of his buttons. Why Reyn is the fire that burns and chokes, and why Shulk cannot seem to look away. 

All he can see is red hair. That loud, infectious laughter. The children who follow Reyn, who run and shout and play with him, who look at him, impressed, when Reyn refuses to read his work out loud, when Reyn doesn't even bother writing in his exams and he just leaves them blank. The other children, who ask Reyn to climb trees with them; to reach the very highest point of their imaginary mountains, to play at pretend - to be a knight in shining armour or a monster come to wreak havoc on their little playground, their temple of creativity where they weave their own stories of make-believe, Reyn's flaming hair shining like a beacon amidst it all. Reyn, who does not care about what the others think of him, who does not worry and does not think and simply _exists,_ doing as he pleases as though nothing could ever go wrong. 

And then, when the day is over, when their chairs are stacked upon the tables and their pencils and papers are shoved haphazardly into their bags, Reyn goes home to his mother and father. Those smiling faces that Shulk has burned into his memory, those honey-brown eyes that crinkle at the edges and those gentle voices that soothe all the worries that a seven year old can have. His mother, who is well-known and well-liked across the colony, a formidable member of the defence force, with a laugh just as loud and free as Reyn's. His father, who is more reserved, but still just as strong, who helps train the new recruits of the force, who excels in healing and always bandages Reyn up when he scrapes his knees and bashes his head. 

Shulk sees all of that in his mind, and he _knows_ why he hates Reyn.

He has everything Shulk so desperately wants. He is loud and confident and bold and brash; he has friends, a mother and a father who love him dearly. He has hair like fire and he shines like the sun on the darkest of days.

All Shulk has is bleary memories, the howling of ice wind that swirls within him. The empty space that his parents' absence has left behind, the void that Dickson cannot fill. (And the void, Shulk sometimes thinks, that Dickson does not _want_ to fill)

Sometimes he breathes and he does not feel real, his breath comes out in puffs of cold smoke and he feels as if that is what he brings. The storm clouds that hide the light, the cold that seeps under the skin. He is always cold. His fingers like ice cubes and his feet always frozen. He does not like the same foods that other children his age love so much; for him they are bland and tasteless. He has strange dreams, he sees the Monado, here's a voice that is not his own. He sees bright light, but not like sunlight for this sort of light does not hold warmth. Instead it is cruel, calculated, and it shines into his eyes, tears him from the inside out and bursts forth from his skin like sickness, like a plague. 

Sometimes he wonders if he truly had recovered from his time lost in that snow, trapped in the expedition that had killed his parents. Although he had survived, although he had healed, Shulk wonders if there is still something else wrong with him; if the cold had got trapped in his heart and left him feeling isolated, trapped on a distant island even when surrounded by others. 

Reyn is the fire, the very warmth of the world; and Shulk is the ice, the snow. He is cold, he is tainted by his memories that will not stick, the fuzzy faces of his parents that he can never quite piece together, their voices that he does not know. Sometimes, Shulk catches Dickson looking through him, as though he doesn't really exist at all. 

So Shulk reads his books, sits under the shadows of trees where the warmth of sunlight does not hit, sits where he fades into background noise and where he can be ignored by the other children, left to his own devices. He watches as Reyn holds everything he has ever wanted in the light of his eyes, and he thinks he might be jealous. 

x

It is a few months later that Shulk realises that there is nobody in this world who has everything. And that, maybe, it wasn't fair of him to be so critical of Reyn. Perhaps, in his roundabout way of doing things, that is what Dickson had been trying to tell him. Trying to make him realise that their hatred was unfounded, that Shulk was rude and closed-off for things that weren't Reyn's fault. He is still young, still just a child in a world he does not yet understand; but even at this young of an age he realises that it is not right to judge people, to despise people because they have the things that he wants so badly. For jealousy clouds the view, distorts the image like frosted glass, and Shulk grows to realise that perfection is a concept that only exists in his mind; for Reyn's life is not perfect. Nowhere near so. 

He's at the market-place, trailing behind Dickson like a lost little puppy, when he first realises this. Dickson had needed more cigarettes and Shulk had found himself thinking of the other children, walking hand in hand with the smiling faces of their parents far above them. So he'd asked to come along, begged - in fact. Dickson had looked surprised, but agreed. ("Maybe some fresh air will do you good," he had said, his brows furrowed but an amused smile playing on his lips. "Might make you look less ghost-like, give you some colour." He would always joke about Shulk being pale, for he truly was. His skin has always been as white as a sheet, so pale that shulk would sometimes look in the mirror, pinch his skin until red would bloom on the surface; just to remind himself that he was truly alive)

But now he's here and Dickson's hands look cold and uninviting. Not warm, not like home. Instead, they only deepen the longing Shulk feels in his chest, the hole within him that is missing, that just wants what everyone else has. Dickson is good. Shulk likes him a lot, he's gruff and a little bit scary but he can be kind, when he wants to be, and he can spin the funniest of tales, of giants and people with wings on their heads who lived in their floating city, bathed under the glow of starlight. But Dickson… there is a softness that he lacks, he does not have an air of compassion, nor an air of kindness. Children are not his strong point, he lacks the patience and the softness that good parents have. He is not sentimental and part of Shulk fears that Dickson would laugh at him, if he could hear the thoughts spinning around Shulk's head.

There is nervousness that swells in his throat, a nervousness that makes it hard to breathe. He feels laughter bubbling up from deep within him, yet the telltale sting of tears pricks at his eyes. If he opens his mouth, he is unsure whether he will laugh or cry. He can't even miss his parents, for he cannot remember anyone to miss, but he feels _empty._ As though there is something missing, something not quite right. He feels _cold,_ a bitter sort of cold that seeps into his very blood, makes his bones shiver and rattle from under his skin, makes his mouth feel numb and his heartbeat thud against his skull. He feels as if he has been submerged in ice, trapped from the rest of the world, locked away in a translucent prison; one where he can see the world revolve around him but he cannot move, he cannot be free to do as he wishes. 

And then, from across the marketplace, he sees _fire._

It is Reyn, glowing like a star amidst the darkest of nights that catches Shulk's attention. The sun of woven gold, of orange and yellow and red; that speaks of the warmth that curls in the depths of your chest and the comfort that threads through aching fingers. 

It is the anger that boils, that swells deep within Shulk's blood. A second voice that tells him to stay away, that whispers at Shulk. _Keep yourself hidden,_ it whispers. _Reyn is not like you, none of them are. You don't need them._ The voice is harsh, cold. Familiar in a way Shulk can't quite grasp. He feels as if he has heard it before, felt it in an ether stream of light, dancing amongst scarlet flame. It is the voice in his dreams, the one that laughs when frozen glow burns from his eyes. The one that speaks of things that Shulk doesn't understand, the words he cannot piece together when he awakens the next morning. He does not know what the voice means, he does not know why it is there, but it is a different sort of fire that bursts across Shulk's veins. Not the fire that warms, but the fire that _burns._

Yet there is something wrong. Something not quite right about what lays before him. Shulk blinks, he _stares_ , and he cannot shake the feeling that something is _off._

And then it hits him.

Reyn is here alone. He stands alone, all by himself, and Shulk can see the red that lingers around his eyes. It's the brightest colour Shulk has ever seen, brighter than even the ruby rose of the Monado, and he finds himself almost blinded by it, transfixed by the reflection of tear tracks marking their way down Reyn's cheeks. His mind whispers to him, tells him to stop looking, to _ignore_ and to keep to himself. To stay away from others, for he does not need them. 

He must have stopped, made a noise, done _something,_ for soon he feels a heavy hand resting on his shoulder.

It's Dickson, staring down from up above, the strangest expression worn on his face. He follows Shulk's gaze, eyes resting on the slumped figure of Reyn, scrubbing angrily at his eyes, holding a battered sack of coins, and half-smiling at Giorgio's antics, no doubt trying to wipe away the forlorn expression that overruns Reyn's usual brightness. 

Shulk looks with interest at the sack of coin Reyn is carrying. It is far too large for it to be pocket money - even if he had saved up for weeks and weeks, like so many other children do, and that doesn't explain the redness around his eyes. Nor the absence of his parents.

 _What's he doing here alone?_ , Shulk wants to ask. He doesn't even realise he's spoken aloud until Dickson squeezes his shoulder, shoots down a half-smile, his moustache bristling.

"Who? Reyn?" Dickson asks, shifting his weight effortlessly from one leg to the other, his hand still resting on Shulk's shoulder. Shulk can only nod, finding himself unable to make eye contact with Dickson, his face - for some reason he doesn't quite understand - heating up.

"His parents are with the Defence Force," Dickson starts, squeezing Shulk's shoulder once more, using his hold to propel him forwards, pushing him along as they continue walking once more. "They 'ave things to do, sometimes, and then kids like Reyn get left behind. Not for long, mind you. But Reyn's parents are good. Best of the best, an' they keep gettin' sent out more an' more. Poor kid can't catch a break, bein' left on his own all the time. Dunban's been gettin' into a frenzy about 't'all. Thinkin' of takin' him under his wing, y'know how he is," Shulk did in fact _not_ 'know how he is', but he nods along, his eyes still drawn to that silver shining on Reyn's cheeks. 

"He's a good kid, mind you. Loud, not the brightest, but a good kid. Makes me think of Dunban, back in the day. Ah, but now I'm just blabbin', hurry up Shulk, I don't want to be here all day."

And with that, the conversation is over.

Shulk doesn't quite believe that _Reyn_ of all people is _anything_ like _Dunban_ . Shulk doesn't know Dunban all that well but he can't imagine Reyn, the _loudmouth,_ the idiot who leaps before he thinks and cheats on his tests, could even be compared to somebody like Dunban.

But still, as they walk away and he loses sight of Reyn's fiery hair and his red-stained cheeks, the image of Reyn slouched over, looking tiny and lost and scared, does not leave Shulk's mind.

But, he realises that he has seen Reyn by himself many times. He is only young, still six years old, but Shulk realises that he too is left alone. The community looks after him, for the colony treats everyone like family, but that does not change that Reyn - all the children whose parents are a part of the defence force - is frequently left to his own devices, even at such a young age. People help where they can, for all the children left behind for days or weeks at a time, but there is only so much that can be done.

Reyn's parents are too valuable to leave the defence force, they are far too important to simply leave and refuse their duties; but conflict seems to be brewing across the lands of the Bionis, and the other colonies are struggling. Colonies five and seven had already fallen, and it looks as if the others will soon follow. Reyn's parents, like so many other members of the force, are a much needed strength that cannot be forgotten to look after one small child. 

It is then, on that day, that Shulk realises that appearances can be deceiving and that, sometimes, he needs to take another look at things. To not see the world at such a face-value. To not listen to the thoughts in his head, that swirl in dark judgement and tell him that nobody is to be trusted. There is more to this world than his young mind can realise, and more to each person than he ever thought to look.

Somewhere, in the very depths of his mind, there is a curling of distaste, a voice that despises the quirks that lay hidden under flesh, the thoughts that cannot be controlled; but he squashes it down and ignores it.

Instead, he focuses his mind on other things. But, always, his thoughts return to Reyn.

_Maybe Shulk should give him a chance. Maybe he isn't so bad after all._

x

Reyn's parents are gone more and more as the years continue, and age seven turns to eight and Shulk begins to notice more and more about Reyn. Things he had never bothered to notice, not before this.

He notices the way Reyn looks when nobody is watching. The way the charade falls and he too appears isolated and lonely. The way he scrubs through his hair when he tries to work, the way his pencil is covered in bite marks, mangled from the way he chews it whenever he doesn't quite understand.

And then, as times continue and the work gets harder and harder and Reyn still hasn't gotten the hang of the basics, Shulk sees him less and less.

He rarely turns up to classes. The only way Shulk can be sure he'll turn up is when his parents are home; but they are home less and less and Reyn seems to be slipping further and further away. There are whispers, conversations that the adults say under hushed breaths, their eyes darting to their children, their bodies turned away to hide the innocence for growing conflict. Another two colonies have fallen, Shulk knows this for he presses his ear to the kitchen door when Dunban and Mumkhar - another one of Dickson's close friends - are visiting. Shulk knows that Mumkhar and Dunban are also members of the defence force, although they fall under a different branch. Their post is to defend the colony, to stay at home and clear away any nearby threats; they are not sent through the depths of Tephra Cave, not sent to the furthest reaches of the Bionis to try and save colonies that almost have nothing left to save. But Shulk hears them talk about it, hears Mumkhar grow angrier and angrier as the condition of Colony Four, the place he was born, grows worse and worse. 

Shulk hears tales of the ruthless force known as the Mechon, the machines that cannot be fought with any weapon known to the homs - aside from the Monado, but there is yet to be someone who can wield it. (Dunban is determined he will be the one to try and tame it next, although he is too important to the force for the colonel to risk his life just yet) He feels that hatred burn deep within him as the three speak of the Mechonis, the enemy of all Homs and all life on Bionis. He presses his ear against the crack in the door, so hard that deep imprints are left in his cheeks. He listens and listens and listens, yet as they speak of worsening conditions and a world beginning to split at the seams, Shulk finds his thoughts always returning to Reyn.

His parents will no doubt be sent out more and more. As conditions worsen and the colonies grow more desperate, they have no choice but to go. 

Reyn is left to his own devices when his parents are not home. He knows - from Dickson - that Dunban tries his best to look after him, but Dunban can't be there all the time and Reyn is very good at finding places where he will not be found. For as loud as he is, and as bright as he seems to shine, Reyn has an uncanny ability of fading into the background when he so wishes. When - as he hears from Dickson - Dunban begins checking on him in the early hours of the day, making sure he's getting prepared for school, Reyn learns to wake up even earlier; and he disappears to who knows where, a place where nobody has managed to find him. He is stubborn, a trait he apparently shares with his mother, and when Reyn sets his mind to something he is determined to see it through - even if that task is to go unnoticed. 

One time, when he comes home, it is to the sound of Dickson and Dunban's half-muffled discussion. They don't yet realise that Shulk is home, for he is certain they would have stopped talking if they knew. So Shulk listens, just out of sight, his ear pressed up against the door, for he too has grown good at staying hidden when he does not want to be seen. 

"I've tried getting him to come and stay with us," Dunban's voice rings out. "He refuses, though. He says he needs to be there, in case his parents come home." Dunban chuckles, although there is no humour that lies there. "I don't have the heart to force him to leave."

"You're too soft, Dunban." 

"Maybe I am," his voice dips, low enough that Shulk has to strain his ears, pushing his whole head up against the slither of a crack in the door. "He reminds me of myself, though. When I was his age."

There's a clatter of a mug being placed down heavily upon the table. A long pause, and Shulk almost thinks the conversation is over, but then he hears Dickson exhale loudly.

"Let's hope he has better luck than you, then. Poor kid'll be even worse if his parents kick it." 

Dunban says something in response, but Shulk does not listen. He pulls back from the doorframe, clenches and unclenches his fist and wishes he hadn't listened at all.

Maybe Reyn isn't so different from him after all. Maybe they both feel alone. Maybe, just _maybe,_ they just show it in different ways. 

x

And then, somehow, through it all, they become friends.

It starts, really, because Reyn's reading is bad. _Very_ bad.

At first it had been put down to slow development. Some children, after all, would learn things slower than others. It did not matter if Reyn wasn't the best reader, not when he was six, nor seven, nor eight. He would learn, eventually. He would get better.

But now that they are nine, it has become a problem.

And that's where Shulk comes in. 

The teacher sits them next to one another, perhaps in the hope that some of Shulk's 'smarts' will rub off on Reyn, that he'll learn and grow and maybe never quite catch up with some of the other children his age; but hopefully he'll _improve._

But Reyn is reluctant and embarrassed and _insecure_ . He refuses to work in a way that Shulk had once seen as defiant and rude, as a boast to the other kids and a beg for attention. But now Shulk sees it for what it actually is. Reyn bites his lips when he refuses to read out loud, laughs and turns his head when he is told to write his assignments. His eyes are alight with fire when he is asked a question in class, when his answers are outlandish and ridiculous in an effort to get a quick laugh, to do anything other than admit that he _doesn't know_. He sleeps in lessons because his attention wavers, because the words soon turn to mush in his head, an unintelligible drone that he cannot hope to stay focused on. But Shulk, from right next to him, can see the way his fists are clenched and that, when the teacher moves on from him, crescent-moon imprints are left in his palms. Not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough that the skin around is red and raw.

And it's one day, when Reyn has come in even though his parents aren't at home, (Shulk had seen him walking to school with the girl with the pretty hair, Shulk had recognised her as Dunban's younger sister; no doubt meaning that Dunban had attempted to take Reyn under his wing once more) and his eyes are stained red and Shulk can see the faint marks of tear tracks down his cheeks, that something changes. A bond is formed, one that will span the furthest reaches of all the Bionis, of all the Mechonis, and far beyond that. A bond that will, one day, span the reaches of a new world, a bond that cannot be broken and a bond that is _forever._

But for Shulk, on that gloomy morning, that is the day when he gets his best friend. 

They're supposed to be reading to one another, just in small groups of two or three, and while Shulk reads his piece flawlessly, quickly and concisely and the words flowing from his lips as though they had always been there, Reyn goes as white as a sheet.

He grips the piece of paper like a lifeline, stuttering as he tries to sound out letters that swim about on the paper, swirl in a thunderstorm, a hurricane that uproots each letter and sends them sprawling in madness across the paper. 

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to." Shulk whispers from across the table, leaning close to Reyn. 

Reyn looks back at him, something sharp and defensive flashing across his features. "I can do it! I'm not stupid!" He says, hands still trembling, holding tight onto that creased piece of paper. 

"I know you're not stupid, Reyn." Shulk says and he _means_ it. Reyn isn't 'smart', not like Shulk is. Not with pens and paper and questions that have a right and wrong answer. But he thinks outside the box. Shulk has watched him pull games out of thin air, make stories in a breath of wind and an excited waver of his hands and imagined the most wondrous things. He is someone who, unlike Shulk, trusts his guts, trusts his instincts. Reyn _is_ smart, just in a different way. In a way that - when shut inside a stuffy old classroom - doesn't really matter. He doesn't _work_ in this sort of system, when everything is controlled and methodical and organised. In the sort of place that Shulk thrives most, Reyn only suffers. He needs freedom, he needs to work with his hands and his body and to _do_ things rather than sit and listen, passive and dull and endless.

Reyn looks affronted, as though he doesn't quite believe what Shulk is saying; but there must be something in Shulk's eyes, for the tenseness of his shoulders relaxes and he sits back, his brow furrowed.

Then he smiles and Shulk is temporarily blinded.

They spend the remainder of the lesson just talking. Not about anything in particular, just anything that comes to mind, and Reyn is _funny._ He says things that has Shulk hiding giggles in the palms of his hand, biting his arms to quell the raucous laughter that begs to be freed, tears streaming from his eyes. Reyn makes jokes, his voice rising louder and louder until Shulk has to shush him, eyes glancing to the teacher standing only a few feet away. Their work is forgotten, the papers left marooned on their desks, their pencils nowhere near their hands and their heads floating away, no longer rooted in the dreary cream walls and the scratched-up wooden desks, but instead they are far away from here, far away from the boredom of this life and instead they are somewhere fantastical. Somewhere where Reyn laughs and Shulk smiles and - for perhaps the first time in Shulk's life - he feels at home. 

And then, once the bell rings, Reyn turns to him, those brown eyes lit up like fireworks in the night sky.

"D'you wanna play with me?" He asks and Shulk, despite himself, glances towards Reyn's other friends, waiting impatiently by the back door.

He follows Shulk's gaze, looks at them for a moment, before he turns back with a steeled expression worn plain on his face.

"Nah," he says, shaking his head from side to side as if to emphasise his point. "You're much more fun."

And, from that day forward, there is rarely a single day that goes by where Reyn and Shulk are not firmly glued to one another's side. Reyn stops hanging out with his other friends, soon becoming a common fixture in Shulk and Dickson's home, his legs dangling off the worktops as he and Shulk raid the cupboards for snacks. For Reyn decides that he wants _Shulk_ to be his friend, and Shulk does not understand how someone as fun as Reyn can see laughter and joy in Shulk - the boy whose skin is delicate like paper and laugh is like the careful patter of rain against the fading petals of cornflowers. But Reyn finds him fun, Reyn drags him outside into rainstorms and spins him round and round until the two of them are dizzy, staggering like drunkards through the streets of Colony Nine as they laugh and whoop and scream and shout, their voices twisting amongst the rainfall and creating a symphony that spirals high into the sky, creates a spectrum of colour that shines down on them in rainbow light.

Reyn's laughter - which had once been such an annoyance - is still just as loud and bold and brash, butnow it is joined by another. Much quieter, much softer, but when Shulk is with Reyn he laughs until his throat is raw and smiles until his cheeks ache.

x

From that day forwards, it is Reyn and Shulk against the world.

It is Shulk who Reyn seeks out, Shulk who watches worriedly from down below as Reyn climbs trees, who follows just a breath away; never quite brave enough to climb to the very top. It is Shulk who sits with Reyn, helps him with schoolwork that he can never fully understand. Who sits there and doesn't call Reyn stupid when the words on paper don't make sense; who learns how to read Reyn's scrawled handwriting and understand the spelling mistakes, understand the words put in the wrong places and the things that never quite make sense. They help one another in ways they don't quite realise; for sometimes Shulk needs to trust his gut, to trust his instincts and simply believe in himself; and sometimes Reyn needs to slow down, breathe in deeply and let the world push him forwards, rather than him pushing it back. 

It is Shulk and Reyn. The two of them. When Reyn's parents are absent, it is him and Shulk in that empty house, waiting and waiting for that front door to open; for voices to shout in greeting and for Reyn to become enveloped in golden flame, sunlight licking at his dark skin. They leave more and more, until they are absent more often than they are there; and it teats their family apart, slowly. For Reyn's parents are not happy. They see the world at its very darkest threads and they return to a son who they wish they could stay with, to a son who they have left behind. There is nothing to be done and no matter how hard they fight it, no matter how loud Reyn's mother cusses out the newest colonel, (a frankfully terrifying man called Vangarre) that does not change the fact that Homs numbers are waning, and it is their choice to make sacrifices now or pay the price with the lives of all those in the other colonies. 

And they get older. Older and older, and their two changes to three when Reyn introduces Shulk to Fiora, and the three of them run outside the colony; play their games of wizards and dragons and knights and goblins in the uncut grass. It is the three of them that run between the spring flowers, disturb the bees and the butterflies and the dragonflies with their wings of cut glass, who scream and shout and run until their breath dissolves in giggles and the sun overhead sinks into lilac night. 

But even when it is three, it is always _Reyn_ who is there. Fiora is nice, Shulk thinks. She's pretty, with hair like gold and eyes bright and green like the emerald jewels in Shulk's books. She is bossy and confident and she is gentle and quiet, calm where Reyn is wild and methodical where Reyn is chaos. The three of them work well together, they balance each other out like weights on scales, raising each other up; higher and higher to the heavens, yet also keeping them tethered to the solid ground below, ensuring they don't simply fly away on summer breeze. 

But it is always Shulk and Reyn. Shulk and Reyn who can understand one another without even speaking. Reyn, who never looks at Shulk like he is not there, who never looks over him with vacant gaze, Reyn who brings the spring to Shulk's winter and who warms his chilled skin down to the very bone. Shulk who sits and reads with Reyn, Shulk who Reyn can cry to, who is safe and special and someone who Reyn trusts beyond the threads of this world and the next. 

Shulk loves Fiora. And although he is still just a child, one with gaps where his baby teeth have fallen out and with hair that is always tangled, never quite brushed, he knows that he loves her. He loves her like family, he thinks. Like Reyn loves his parents, his love for Fiora comes in a similar way; as though she has always been there, as though she will always be by his side. A sister, someone who helps fill the vacant hole of Dickson's withdrawal - for Dickson tries, Shulk knows he does; but he lacks the gentle touch of a parent, the softness that warms him from his toes to his head. 

Reyn, though, is something different. 

Shulk doesn't know how, or why, but all he knows is that when Reyn smiles Shulk feels as if everything will be alright in the world. That nothing could ever go wrong.

x

But then it does, and Reyn no longer smiles. Not for a long time, anyway, and even when he does - it takes a while for it to truly meet his eyes.

x

They are together, when it happens. Sitting in Reyn's living room that seems far too large, far too empty, with only the two of them to sit in it. Reyn's parents had been sent out in a last bid to reclaim Colony Four. Shulk knows this for Mumkhar had gone too, demanded that he be sent there even though this quest was not one of his duties. Shulk had watched Reyn hug his parents goodbye, tears in his eyes as he begged them one last time to stay. Shulk had watched as Reyn's father, who was large and tall but had a heart of gentle gold, leaned down and hugged Reyn, his lips pressed against Reyn's forehead. When he had pulled away, his eyes had been tinged with red. His mother had said goodbye next, a woman who was harsh and fearsome - for she led her on squad within the force - but she had always been nothing but kind to those around her. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she hugs Reyn fiercely, her dark eyes alight with fire - the spitting image of Reyn's own. 

They say their goodbyes, but as they leave, as Shulk watches them go, he can't help but feel something curl in his chest. A deep fear, tendrils of black smoke constricting at his heart. He does not know why, but he thinks Reyn feels it too.

That had been a week ago. Now, they're halfway through making a blanket fort, Shulk remembers this vividly for he remembers Reyn's face when he'd brought down an unused duvet. His parents' duvet, for their cold double bed. He'd frowned, long and hard, with his large eyes almost doe-like as they drooped downwards, his bottom lip giving the faintest hint of a quiver before he bit it, averted his gaze and took the duvet from Shulk with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.

But soon that shadow fades and brings way to light, as the evening continues Reyn's laughter becomes louder and louder, and he and Shulk sit next to one another, Shulk's head resting on Reyn's shoulder, Reyn's nose pressed into the softness of Shulk's hair.

They are together and they are laughing, _enjoying_ themselves, just the two of them. When Reyn smiles Shulk feels something stir in his chest, like the autumn leaves swirling in cold wind; the dragonflies beating wings, stained glass membrane catching the sunlight in rainbow colour. He feels the warmth deep in his chest, the smolder of flame that Reyn always leaves in him, the thumping of his heart that beats like a starling in his chest. 

Reyn is laughing, loud and brash and bold and the sound rumbles like thunder through the house. In summer storm, Reyn comes into Shulk's life and upturns him like a hurricane; in wildfire that burns and consumes and sets alight golden into the night. It is _Reyn_ who burns away the doubt, the anxiety, the other voice in his head that screams and shouts and begs to be listened to. The coldness that seeps into Shulk's skin, Reyn banishes the deadness of his flesh, the feeling of emptiness that sometimes takes over Shulk. On the days that Shulk's skin doesn't feel right, as though it does not fit over all the pieces of him, when the nasty voice in his head comes back, will not be silenced, it is Reyn who is there. Reyn who is by his side.

This day becomes important for Shulk, for it marks many things. It is a bad day, one of the worst, but it is the day when he truly realises how much Reyn means to him; when he truly realises that Reyn will be by his side until the day he dies. And - if he's being honest - he doesn't even think death could keep the two of them apart. Reyn is certainly stubborn enough, that's for sure.

But there, in the moment, he is simply helping Reyn tack up the duvets. Hanging them off the curtain railings, stacking up pillows and cushions until the fort of their dreams is complete.

They never finish the fort though, their battlement against the world. For there is a knock at the door. It is Shulk who answers, for Reyn had temporarily departed to the kitchen, getting a massive bowl of snacks that was probably supposed to last them the night but (as always) the two would have managed to finish it off in only a few short hours. 

When he opens the door, he is met with the grim faces of Dunban and Dickson. He steps back in surprise, for there are shadows worn on the two adults' faces that Shulk has never seen before. A darkness that lingers behind their eyes that creeps under Shulk's skin, like the pitter patter of spiders' feet, black tendrils constricting his lungs until he feels stifled; as though he can't quite catch a breath.

"Get your things, Shulk." Dickson says, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed. Shulk wants to argue, wants to ask _why_ but before he can even open his mouth, Dunban's hand is on his shoulder. " _Please,_ Shulk." He says.

For a moment, Shulk is taken back by the pitch of his voice. He's never heard Dunban sound so… so _sad_ . But he _does_ look sad. There's a tightness to his jaw, that unnameable darkness in his eyes. The spiders come back again, crawling around in the pit of his stomach.

He gulps, turns around, and does as he is told. The questions burning in his mind die in his throat. He does not dare ask, he does not dare say another word. Something is very, _very_ wrong; and he's not quite sure what it is yet.

Dunban follows him in, Dickson stays outside, lighting his cigar before taking a deep, long drag. He blows out the smoke, noxious fumes billowing from his lips, rising up into the air before it dissipates, vanishes in the waning sunlight. Even Dickson, who Shulk had always thought of as unshakeable, looks tense. Perhaps his time with Shulk has made him softer, perhaps he hadn't thought he would become so attached to those around him. He'd always given off an air that he did not care, but maybe Shulk had been reading him all wrong. 

Reyn is there, and he is smiling bright, arms full of an ungodly amount of unhealthy foods, but his expression falters when he sees Dunban. Before he can even open his mouth, even say a word, Dunban is by his side. He takes Reyn by the elbow, the snacks falling to the floor with a crash, and leads him back into the kitchen; but before he shuts the door behind them he turns to Shulk. "Do you need any help getting your things?" He asks. His voice is still flat, his eyes still shrouded in that same shadow that makes Shulk's skin crawl.

Shulk shakes his head, he hadn't brought much anyway, and Dunban offers him a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. When the kitchen door is shut, Shulk can faintly hear Reyn's voice, loudly asking what's going on. 

There's something thick and heavy and oppressive settling over the house, something that makes the hairs on Shulk's arms stand on their ends, makes the air become thick and stifling and choking. He collects his things quickly, shoving them all into his nightbag before he stumbles outside, gulps in the freshness of air marred by the cloying scent of Dickson's cigar smoke. 

As they walk away from Reyn's house, Shulk still confused, still unsure about what's going on, but not daring to ask Dickson, for his cigarless hand is clenched and his face is flat and hard, closed off from the rest of the world.

Then, from behind them, there is a shout. It's unmistakably Reyn's voice, but it is high, cracking at the ends. 

Shulk has never heard Reyn sound like that. Not in all their years as friends. He stops, turns around. He _needs_ to go back inside. Reyn is his best friend, he _needs_ to see if he's okay, but then Dickson has his hands on his shoulders, gripping him tightly and holding him in place. 

"What's going on?" Shulk gasps, fingers clawing at Dickson's vice-like grip. "What's wrong with Reyn?"

Dickson's sigh is long and deep, the exhale of air blowing against the hairs of his scruffy mustache. He looks down at Shulk, looks _at_ him and not through him like he so frequently does.

"It's his parents." He says and Shulk's heart sinks.

"They're dead." 

x

Shulk doesn't see Reyn the next day, for he doesn't show up to school. Fiora isn't there either, which means Shulk spends the day alone; watching the seconds tick by at a snail's pace. He occupies his day by counting down the time, waiting on the edge of his seat for the day to be over, so he can find Reyn; see if he's okay. 

He is distracted that day. He does not listen, he does not pay attention, for his mind wanders elsewhere. The subjects that would have once enthralled him fall on deaf ears.

He doesn't _care._ He just wants to get out of here, go and see Reyn. He's his _best friend_ . It's his _job_ to make sure Reyn is happy. 

So when the day is over, when he is _eventually_ free to leave, he runs all the way to Dunban's house, not even stopping for a breath. 

Banging at the door, his fists smashing against the old wood and his feet stamping impatiently into the ground, he shouts and he shouts and he _shouts_ for someone to let him in.

It's entirely unlike himself to be like this, to be so rough and loud and… so _Reyn-like,_ if he's being honest. Maybe they'd rubbed off on one another, over the years. Or maybe Shulk just can't bare the thought of Reyn facing this alone. He doesn't know _exactly_ what things are like for Reyn, but he understands the emptiness, the loneliness. He has no memory of his parents, no real memory anyway, but he understands all too well what it is like to miss those who can never come back, the ache of a whole that you don't know if it can ever be filled.

The door is open with a clang, almost hitting Shulk straight in the face and he sheepishly averts his eyes upwards, cowering from an unamused Fiora. She looks tired, as though she hadn't managed to get much sleep - if any - at all; and there are dark smudges resting under her eyes, deep shadows casting below the flutter of her eyelids. She frowns, the faintest trace of wrinkles deepening at her brows, as though she has been frowning a lot for the past twenty-four hours, as though all the happiness has been blown out of her with one hearty exhale.

The redness of her eyes stands out against the brightness of green, the rims of her eyelids stained with a watery pink, her cheeks glistening with the faintest paths of tears. She scrubs at her face obstinately, flushing angrily beneath her fists as she chews on her lower lip.

"Reyn isn't here." She says, folding her arms and then unfolding them, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. She looks distressed, visibly so. "He's back at his house, he-"

She blinks extra hard, rubs her lips together until Shulk can see the imprint of her teeth against her skin. Bloodshot eyes grow more so. 

"He refused to leave. And then when Dunban brought him back here-"

She swallows, deeply.

"We're lucky, Shulk." She says, her hand grabbing his own. She squeezes it tight, hard enough that the nubs of her nails dig into Shulk's skin, leaving crescent-moon divots that sting. "At least we don't remember our mum and dad. There's… there's nobody to miss."

And perhaps that isn't quite right, not really, for pain comes in many different forms, many different ways that the two of them are too young to understand, but Shulk knows what she means. 

While Shulk and Fiora's longing for their parents is no weaker, it is a longing for a convention; for two people who they cannot remember but two people who they want dearly. For, one time, they had both had their mother and father, had their happy little family; but before they were even old enough to enjoy it, that family was gone. 

Shulk never had any memories of his parents. Not real ones, anyway. He could never remember their faces, never remember their voices. Fiora, much of the same. But Shulk had Dickson, Fiora; Dunban.

All Reyn has are the memories of his parents, the clear ones. The photographs that he can remember being taken, their voices which he can still recall so clearly.

And, as Shulk and Fiora both know; Reyn's pain is like theirs'. An open wound, oozing with blood. 

But wounds? Wounds heal. And one day, this will pass. It will never stop hurting, never truly, but life can go on. It can continue. They can all be happy again. The phantom pain will always linger, like the story about Dionysis' old friend, who would wake up in the dead of the night, feeling a pain for a leg he no longer had. The pain would linger and it would never truly leave, but it would become manageable. As time passes, it will become easier to keep on living, to face the new day with a smile. For wounds do not need to heal for things to be okay once more, all that needs to happen is a smile, for a trickle of happiness that proves - despite it all - there is still joy in the world, still a reason to hold on. 

But if sadness is wounds, then memories are scars. 

And Reyn's crystal clear memories, the smiling faces of his parents, their voices, the touch of their hands and the press of their lips against his forehead, just like scars; those memories will fade. They will fade, slowly, and he will watch them gradually disappear. See as those photos, the ones that have him on his mother's shoulders, his father with his arm wrapped around her waist, the photos that he can remember being taken so vividly, soon fade into nothing more than photos. Their voices that he swore he will never forget will begin to disappear, for time soothes all but with it, things grow forgotten. That will be the worst part, the hardest part, and Reyn is still young, not yet old enough to realise that it is not his fault, that it is _okay_ to forget their voices, their faces and their touch, for he will never forget his love for them, and that is what truly matters. 

"I want to make him something." Fiora says, her voice knocking Shulk out of his thoughts. Her eyes glow, her hand is still wrapped around Shulk's but no longer can he feel the sting of her nails digging in deep. She tugs him inside, tugs him into a house that smells of sugar, of the warm comfort of baking.

Shulk is desperate to see Reyn. He wants it more than anything in the world, but he is hoping that, although it will not banish Reyn's pain, a gift of sweetness from himself and Fiora will help put a smile back on his face - even if it does not quite reach his eyes. 

x

It is late afternoon, when the sun is just beginning to glow golden, when the two of them make their way over to Reyn's house; their arms laden with freshly baked goods. The walk there is silent, a dark cloud hanging heavy in the air, casting down shadow on their small faces. The road there seems longer, a familiar path suddenly feeling foreboding as their feet thud against the paved streets of the Colony.

Reyn's house is a familiar place for all of them, for they have all stayed there frequently; played their games of pretend in Reyn's living room hidden from the world under Reyn's duvet, shone lamps under their chins and told the scariest stories their young minds could weave together. 

The dahlias Reyn's father had planted (for they had been his mother's favourite) outside, in the raised flower beds that lined their house, were beginning to fall out of season. The pink of their petals was beginning to fade, curling to translucent brown, the plants shrivelling away to nothing. Dotted around them are the small petals of cosmos, the flowers that Reyn had planted and grown himself; the ones that he watered with such gentle care that Shulk and Fiora had both been taken aback by the tentative way he had handled them. Reyn's house has always been full of flowers, ones that he and his father had grown from tiny little seeds. Always in blossom, always in colour, but now they are wilting and the space around their little cottage looks grey. 

Shulk knocks at the door, his knuckles rapping quietly against the wood, his breath caught in his throat. Fiora had said Dunban was here, had been managing his time between caring for both Fiora and Reyn - since Reyn had been adamant that he would not leave this house; not even if he was dragged out kicking and screaming. It was his _parents'_ house, the place where they had raised him, the place that signified that they were a family, they were _together._ If Reyn no longer had this house, it would feel like a loss of memory, a loss of a place that had been safe and warm, a lighthouse amidst the raging storm of the ocean. 

It is, as expected, Dunban who answers the door. His face is bruised with exhaustion, much like Fiora's only the shadows under his eyes are deeper, his long hair scraggly and matted, as though he had run his hands through it countless times, tangled it with his fingers and not yet had the time for himself to sort it out. 

He stands aside, lets them in. His smile is soft, sad, but his eyes shine with the smallest burst of happiness when he spies the baked goods bungled in their arms. A bittersweet expression, a small measure of pride but a large measure of fatigue. Shulk remembers that conversation he had overheard with Dickson, remembered the way Dunban's own parents had died. He'd been a few years older than Reyn when that had happened, (at least, according to Fiora) and he'd been saddled with a younger sister who could not yet speak on top of it all. Perhaps Dunban feels a need to help Reyn for he reminds him of himself, or perhaps it is more than that. Perhaps, after all these years of watching out for Reyn, checking in on him when there was nobody else, having him laughing in Dunban's kitchen, arguing like siblings with Fiora and wreaking havoc whenever he can, perhaps after all of that Dunban has become fond of Reyn - just like Dickson has become fond of Shulk. And perhaps after the sacrifice that Reyn's parents have given, the cost of their lives to try and protect the last remaining survivors in Colony Four, it is only right that Reyn has somebody to look out for him, a family who will never replace his parents but can offer comfort, give him something to smile about once more. 

"Is Reyn okay?" Fiora asks, her voice a high whisper. 

Dunban's face darkens, his brow furrowed. "He'll be fine." He says.

He does not say he _is_ fine, Shulk notes.

But still, the two of them creep past Dunban, can't help but note the staleness of the house; the coldness that lingers far underneath, that no amount of blankets or no roaring fires could ever hope to warm.

It is the same cold that seeps into Shulk's bones when he feels at his lowest. When all he can think of is a biting wind and a land coated in thick white snow. When all he can think of is the faintest whisper of a long forgotten memory, a sword of red and a hand slotted in his own. That same cold envelopes Reyn's house, snakes its way into every little corner, seeps through the cracks and bites at the skin.

And, as they walk through thick air, stale and heavy and dripping down like molten lead, Reyn is there. 

Looking small, looking pale, huddled under a thick mass of blankets, his face half hidden. He is hunched over, sitting on the sofa with his knuckles gripped, white where the bone pinches his skin. Shulk's heart aches. 

His parents died in vain. They were sent out into an impossible battle. Shulk knows this for he had heard Mumkhar, his voice laced with anger, ranting about it to Dickson. The entire colony had been overrun by mechon once they had gotten there. It was all well and good to clear a few, to look for the few remaining survivors, but there were no survivors in the colony. Not anymore. Mumkhar, and the few others who returned, had been lucky to come back alive. And perhaps that is what hurts about it most, that Reyn's parents had needlessly died, that they had been casualties in a war they could never hope to win. 

"Reyn," his voice rings out soft, gentle. As if speaking to a startled animal.

It's still too loud for the stoic silence of the room and Reyn looks up in shock, his eyes blown almost comically wide and his hands tugging at the blankets swathed over him.

Shulk feels as if he's swimming. Swimming in the depths of Agora Shore, the hostile Sardi swirling around him, their teeth sharp and biting. He is out of his depth in situations such as these. He does not know what to do, what to say. He feels awkward, for he knows exactly how he _wants_ this to go, he knows what he _wants_ to do, but the words get stuck in his throat and his body feels heavy, glued to the floor.

But Fiora, bless her heart, is much better at this than Shulk. She, and Reyn, both have a charisma that Shulk lacks, a quality about them that makes them instantly likeable, allowing them to get along with almost all that they meet. Fiora especially has a talent for reading situations, for somehow always knowing what needs to be done, what needs to be said. She is like Dunban in that retrospect, wise beyond her years with an instinctual ability to ebb away tension in any room she enters.

She pushes him forwards, leaving Shulk stumbling as he tries to keep ahold of the goods in his arms, and she steps forward with a bright smile. It's plastered on and it doesn't really reach her eyes, but Reyn's expression brightens. Only the tiniest bit, but it does brighten. Like the glisten of raindrops in a dark storm, for the sky overhead is still overcast and grey, but the sparkle of raindrops twinkle like jewels, like tiny little stars amidst the darkness of everlasting night.

"We brought these for you!" Her voice is bright, not overly so, and only slightly forced. Shulk notices, Reyn _definitely_ notices, but nobody comments on it. It would not feel right, for Fiora is making an effort. They all know she is, they all know what she is trying to do, but it is a comfort, something to hold on to in the tumultuous waves of this past day.

Reyn's face is tear-stained, his eyes a deep red, bloodshot and sore. His lips are chapped, bitten and dark with dried blood. His hands - Shulk notices - are stained with crimson crescent-moons, the same colour lingering underneath half-bitten nails. He looks awful, looks as though he has not slept in years although it has not even been two days. He is far too young to look like this, they all are, but times are changing and the world outside is growing darker and darker. Pain like this will soon become commonplace, for in the years to follow all of the bionis itself will feel the sting of a loss that can never be returned, the lives that can never be replaced. For there are only four colonies still standing, only four colonies that remain. The rest have fallen and still the Mechon show no sign of stopping their advancements. They can only hold them back for so long, only stay in their relative peace for a decade at most. 

But he looks over at Shulk and Fiora, brown eyes meeting blue and green, and a hesitant smile slips onto his face. The red raw tracks that salty tears have made glisten on his cheeks, freckles dotted like constellations on the scrunch of his nose, the blackness under his eyes, the lines dug deep like a grave with no body, crease against his skin, a face too young to feel the brutal pain of a war-torn world. But it is the three of them, it always has been and it always will be, and as long as they are besides one another, they can face it all. 

The blankets are moved, space on the sofa is made, and Reyn looks over at them expectantly. It's Fiora who understands first, who strides over and plops next to Reyn with a loud exhale. Shulk, only slightly nervously, follows.

For Reyn is surrounded by the shadows of grief, the ones that linger and mayhaps never truly leave; but with them Shulk and Fiora carry lamps of ether light. Like the guideposts in Tephra Cave, they hold in their hands golden shimmer, a fire that can never be put out and a fire that - when any of them begin to stray off of their paths off gold - will always guide them back. Guide them back home, for home is with each other. 

As soon as Shulk sits down, Reyn's head is flung into his chest and his shoulder's begin to shake. Shulk feels the dampness of tears against his shirt and it's all he and Fiora can do to hold Reyn, keep him close and safe and warm. Shulk's skin is cool against Reyn's, and Fiora lays in the perfect balance between them; not cold but not warm either. 

"We're going to be best friends forever, right?" Reyn's voice is muffled, but his words are clear, his voice only wavering slightly from the fabric of Shulk's shirt. 

"Of course,"

"Yeah."

The answer falls from their lips easily, for that is the truth. It has always been there, that lingering thought that the three of them are _together,_ no matter what happens; but it had not yet been spoken aloud. But now it has, now it is in the air itself for all of them to hold on to, for all of them to grasp and keep hidden in the most sacred confines of their hearts. For they are three, together against the world, and although they are only children; still naive and innocent, they realise that family is not always the bonds forged by blood. For, despite it all, they have found one another. A sister in Fiora, and in Reyn… Shulk doesn't quite know, not yet, but Reyn makes him feel warm and safe and makes butterflies beat in his chest and blood pool to his cheeks. Reyn makes him feel nervous in a way that nobody else can, but not a bad sort of nervous. No, instead the sort of nervousness that has Shulk's heart racing in his chest, fluttering on silver feathers that make him feel weightless, as though he could do anything he wishes at all. As though the world is his to bend, as though he has the power to change what has not yet happened.

Reyn lifts his head up, swipes at his red eyes, and then holds his hands out. His pinky fingers are outstretched, and instantly Fiora and Shulk wrap their own around his. 

"Promise?" He says, and they shake on it.

A pink promise, the unbreakable bond. And they all intend to stick to it.

x

When Dunban checks in on them later, they are surrounded by the crumbs of baked goods, and the three of them lay fast asleep; sprawled out on the sofa. The blankets are piled haphazardly on top of one another, Reyn with his head buried in Shulk's chest and Fiora with her head slotted in the space underneath Reyn's chin. 

He smiles and leaves them be. He doesn't have the heart to wake them and, besides, he thinks he might follow in their lead. It wouldn't hurt for him to get a nap in now, for if Reyn is anything like him (and Reyn _is_ like him, scarily so sometimes) he knows that things will get a whole lot worse before they get anywhere close to getting better. 

x

Eventually, things slowly return to normal. It takes a while, and things are never 'normal' again, for it is impossible for things to return to how they once were, and perhaps realising that; that it is _okay_ that things are different now, is the first step of moving on. For things to become 'normal', although this normal is different to the normal of last year, that is fine. For Reyn smiles more and more and although everything isn't how it was, although nothing is perfect, that does not matter. A smile says a lot more than 'normal' ever could. 

Reyn starts coming to school once more, although he detests it, and he eventually starts living with Dunban and Fiora - with the promise that, when he's older, his parents' old house will be his. Colony 9 is underpopulated enough that such a promise can be kept. Besides, it's the least the defence force - who, by technicality, are the current owners of the house - can do. It's not like there are enough homs left on the bionis that they have a housing shortage; and - although nobody is to blame - Shulk privately thinks that Vangarre, for all his harsh edges, feels as though he is indebted to Reyn in some way. It is, after all, his decisions that carried Reyn's parents to their deaths and although he cannot be blamed for that, (for what else were they supposed to do? Sit and let Colony Four fall without even putting up one last fight?) the guilt is still there.

So time passes and the wounds heal. The road there is rocky, for as they grow older more things begin to change. Reyn grows headstrong, puts himself into harm's way when it is not necessary, Shulk seems to slip into phases where the emptiness, the hollowness of irrational fears and intrusive thoughts take hold of his mind. Fiora and Dunban have a fight, one that has her adamantly refusing to return home, instead taking refuge in Shulk and Dickson's house for a while; for whatever they had argued about is severe enough that even Dunban needs his own space. (Reyn, during all of this, naturally finds his way staying over with them. They've always done everything together and, besides, Fiora had been upset and what sort of friends would they have been if they'd just left her all alone like that?) Life happens, and things change for better and for worse. They are still children, still young and naive, but gradually they are beginning to find their place in the world. But no matter what happens, nothing changes the fact that it is the three of them, together. 

But, of course, things are not exactly as they were. 

Reyn and Fiora and Shulk are closer than they have ever been, for although the death of Reyn's parents had been awful, it had been something that had brought them all together; made them realise just how much they could rely on one another - showed them the true bonds of unbreakable friendship. But there are days where Reyn is sullen, where he is defensive and aggressive and he hides his pain with anger that burns hot and red. He tries to keep ahold of it, tries to keep charge of his temper that threatens to burst forth, but he is still young, still not quite sure how to process his own feelings; how to expel his pain in a way that does not wreak havoc. Sometimes, they would argue. Shulk and Reyn's biggest bust-up had happened when Reyn - as the anniversary of his parents death approached - had been surly, hidden his sadness with anger and (although unintentionally) had taken out some of that anger on Shulk. In fairness, Shulk had been just as snide back to him. They hadn't spoken to one another for a week - with poor Fiora trying to mediate between the two of them.

But, in a way, Shulk was glad that argument had happened. It had made them stronger, when they had eventually come to their senses; realised that neither one of them had truly been in the wrong, that they were both just as much at fault as the other. It had brought attention to Reyn's hot temper, Shulk's defensiveness. 

But, for the most part, life continues. It goes on, it does not stop, and they grow older and older.

However, no matter what is done, no matter what support is given and no matter what _anyone_ says, Reyn begins to fall further and further behind at school. 

His reading is still abysmal for his age, and it seems to be getting worse and worse. At first, Dunban thinks it might be his eyesight. Reyn had described what reading was like, how everything was jumbled up and how the words would move around and go blurry, how reading would give him the worst sort of headaches, make his head feel as if it was exploding out of his skull. So they had gotten his eyes tested, and his eyesight had been fine. Not perfect, but not bad enough to warrant his reading. 

So it hadn't been his eyesight, not at all, and no matter how hard he tried, Reyn still couldn't read properly. Not like everyone else his age.

So his reading gets worse and his attention span is almost non-existent. He spends his lessons focusing on other things, his mind a whirlwind of different thoughts that he can't help but indulge. He daydreams, falls asleep in the back of class, doesn't complete the work assigned. Even when he tries, for Reyn tries very hard a lot, he still can't get himself to focus. Shulk asks him one day why he can't focus, for Shulk is the opposite, sometimes he is so enthralled in a task that the world around him fades to grey, that the only thing that exists in his eyes is what he is doing. He loses himself in work, sometimes. Gets lost in his need for answers. But as Reyn had explained, talked about how much effort he _did_ put into paying attention, but how his mind simply wouldn't stick, as if it was its own being, for no matter how hard Reyn concentrated his thoughts had other ideas. Shulk had realised that Reyn thought very much like him, although Shulk's thoughts would take him away from the world, pull him deeper and deeper into one specific subject matter, Reyn's would do much of the same - only his thoughts were wild, random. Unpredictable, for Reyn took interest in everything, and - as if his head could not decide what to focus on - he would run through all these fabulous things, each and every single distraction, all at once, in a stream of consciousness that he could not control.

It is why, Shulk realises later, Reyn trusts his instincts so much; why he does not think through his actions. For his thoughts are loud, they demand to be listened to and Reyn rarely thinks of the consequences. He does not need to for, unlike Shulk, he trusts in himself. Reyn and Shulk are like that, similar yet complete opposites. For Reyn fidgets to focus, taps out tunes and whistles and bangs his feet on the floor in an effort to get his mind to stay in one place, Shulk wrings his hands and taps his fingers against his knuckles in an effort to soothe, for when his anxiety rises (which is does so with more and more frequency these days) it is these small actions that manage to ground him.

But no matter what Reyn seems to do, he still cannot focus. He acts like he doesn't care when his work comes back, red scribbled all over it. He acts like he doesn't care when he gets the lowest mark in the class - again. He acts like he doesn't care when people call him stupid, call him an idiot.

Shulk can see differently though. He knows Reyn cares. He cares a lot, but he doesn't know what to do. How to help him. 

Reyn is stubborn, and as he feels worse and worse about himself, as the schoolwork piles higher and higher and his parents' untimely death is still a fresh wound in his mind, Shulk begins to notice a pattern.

Reyn had always been loud, always bold, always willing to do anything he was dared, always prepared to climb to the very top of the trees. But now his habits have manifested into something dangerous. Something that, sometimes, scares Shulk. For Shulk has the same thoughts, the same intrusive impulsiveness that tells him to do things. But whereas Shulk is nervous, overthinks everything he does, Reyn is not like that. When Reyn wants to do something dangerous, something foolish, he does not think of the consequences - not when it concerns himself, anyway. And if his actions are to help someone else, then he thinks about it even less. 

It's when he's with Shulk and Fiora one day that these small happenings, Reyn's brashness, build up and culminate until Shulk can clearly see what is happening, until he realises that although, on the surface, Reyn seems happier; sometimes grief sticks deep under the skin. So deep in fact; that even Reyn himself had not realised what he was doing, why he was doing it.

It's on a bright day, the hottest day of the year so far. They'd escaped to the outskirts of the Colony, lazing around in the warm sunlight whilst the world spun around them, summer colours warming them from the very center of their bodies. 

Reyn had soon gotten bored of things, however, and he was soon poking around, looking for something to do. 

Shulk had watched him with lazy interest, looking at the bright smile on his face as he poked at the flora sprouting on the grassy banks, his dark eyes bright like fire and his laughter ringing out loudly into the peace. Shulk feels that familiar warmth spread through him, a common feeling he has around Reyn, and simply enjoyed the moment. Fiora had already fallen into a doze, her eyes slipped shut and her mouth half agape. And on that summer's afternoon, as they sat there soaking up the sun's rays, sunny and warm, Shulk's limbs had felt pleasantly thick and heavy, his eyelids beginning to droop of their own accord. 

Shulk doesn't even realise he's fallen asleep until he's jerked awake by a shout. It's Reyn. Unmistakably so. 

Fiora is up with a start also, and the two of them look at each other with wild eyes, still dazed and confused and their bodies still laced with the lackadaisical remains of sleep, but aware enough to know that something is very wrong. 

It's Reyn, only a few feet away. A broken branch lays at his feet, his face is sheepish and he averts his gaze when Shulk and Fiora approach. As they near, Shulk can see the twisted mess of Reyn's leg. It's definitely broken. There is no blood, thankfully, and the break does not seem especially bad, (Not like Andreas' leg, who - when Shulk and Reyn and Fiora had crowded around him as tears streamed from his eyes as he yelled and yelled and yelled - had broken it so badly that the bone was sticking straight out) but it is a broken leg nonetheless.

Fiora, always the smarter one in situations like this, is instantly running back to the colony, off to get Dunban. There's no way Reyn will be able to walk back to the colony like this and neither she nor Shulk are strong enough to haul Reyn back on their own. 

That leaves the two of them.

"What were you doing?" Shulk asks, frazzled as he scrubs a hand through his hair. Sleep still lingers at his eyelids, he still feels the pull of his warm and comfortable snooze, drowsiness laced at his voice. His tone is accusatory, he realises this but he's also too tired to care. He's upset, and confused because he thinks he's probably more upset than he should be about this, and he's also _really_ tired. He wants to go back to sleep, back in the summer sun, and have Reyn's leg not broken and the soft sounds of Fiora's gentle snores (for she does snore, despite the fact that she adamantly argues that she doesn't) fading into peaceful background noise. Instead he's here, standing over a sheepish Reyn and getting irrationally angry, irrationally upset, at the sight of Reyn's leg, mangled and twisted. 

Reyn, for the most part, looks completely unbothered, something which irritates Shulk even more. He _should_ care. He just broke his leg and he looks… _fine,_ as though nothing about this is amiss. He looks like he's in pain, although not _that_ much, yet he still manages to give off an air as if this is _fine_ , as if this is normal and Shulk shouldn't worry about him at all. 

"I was climbing the tree." Reyn's response is short, simple, as if stating the obvious and Shulk feels himself get irrationally angry at his nonchalance. 

"Why, though?" The fallen branch is thin and weedy, there was no way Reyn _didn't_ realise that branch wouldn't hold his weight. Reyn _knew_ what he was doing, he knew it had been dangerous and yet he'd kept on going. And him and Fiora were asleep. There was nobody to impress, nobody to show off to. He'd simply done it because he _could,_ done it because he'd been bored and apparently Reyn's idea was fun was falling out of trees and breaking his legs. 

"'cause I wanted to," He answers and Shulk kind of wants to punch him. He won't though. One, because Shulk's never punched someone before and he doesn't think he'd be very good at it, even if he did punch as hard as he possibly could. Two, because he doesn't want to hurt Reyn. Even if Reyn is an idiot who has no sense of self-preservation and climbs up trees with spindly branches and then looks up at Shulk like _that_ and the butterflies are back in Shulk's stomach again, only this time they're much stronger and Reyn opens his mouth to speak and now Shulk can't stop looking at his lips and-

Instead, he says nothing, and stews in silence whilst Reyn looks around awkwardly. He pulls up blades of grass, twists them in his hands before snapping them in two. He begins to whistle a tune but stops when Shulk shoots him an icy glare. The silence is awkward, unbearable, and Shulk doesn't really understand _why_ he's so angry, but he _is._ He keeps thinking of the other children around their age, of Betty, who Shulk had overheard talking about her new boyfriend. She'd kissed him, apparently, and Shulk had always thought kissing was kind of gross, but he keeps looking at Reyn and his lips and maybe kissing Reyn wouldn't be so bad. He thinks, actually, that kissing Reyn would be kind of nice. Part of him wants to do it, because Reyn is looking up at him like _that_ and the butterflies in Shulk's stomach won't stop flapping their wings and Shulk's hands feel clammy and he thinks his heart might beat out of his chest, and although that sounds horrible and unpleasant, and it _is_ kind of horrible and unpleasant, it's also one of the best feelings Shulk has ever had before. 

Shulk needs Fiora to hurry up. Desperately. It's the sleep that's addled his brain, he's still too tired to think straight. That's why he's suddenly thinking of Reyn like this. He pretends that the flutter of butterflies' wings in his stomach haven't been a commonplace sort of feeling whenever Shulk looks at Reyn since… since as long as Shulk can remember, and he prays that Fiora comes soon. 

Maybe Dickson would know why he's feeling like this, why he's _always_ kind of felt like this around Reyn; although the thought of asking Dickson about such a thing makes Shulk feel an embarrassment like no other; as though he sort of wants to curl in a ball and hide and pretend that it's Fiora who he wants to kiss, because Fiora is a girl and she's pretty and funny and Shulk likes her a lot and he's pretty sure that that's how it's supposed to work - that the boy gets the girl and they live happily ever after. But it's not Fiora who he wants to kiss, it's _Reyn_ , and Shulk definitely knows _why_ he's so upset that Reyn jumped out of that tree and broke his leg, but he really doesn't want to think about _that_ too much. 

Eventually, Fiora appears over the horizon, her flaxen hair catching the afternoon sunlight, with Dunban in tow. Like a goddess, she steps into view, saving Shulk from the plague of _feelings_ because he's young and confused and _tired_ and he really doesn't want to think about the butterflies in his stomach or the way Reyn upturns his insides like a hurricane, a storm. A flash of lightning, the way Reyn is wild and untameable and Shulk wants to follow him, wants to follow him to the very ends of the earth. But there is Fiora, a stern looking Dunban following just behind her, and Shulk almost laughs at the sound of Reyn audibly gulping. But then he remembers that he's sort-of mas at Reyn and his expression darkens. He turns his back to Reyn, folds his arms tightly across his chest and tries to stop the painful twang of his heart when Reyn shifts, trying to stand up, only to cry out when he jostles his mangled leg. 

While Dunban walks the three of them back, a begrudging Reyn slung over one shoulder, Shulk is completely silent. He does not say a word. Reyn and Fiora talk; or - more accurately - Fiora tells Reyn off, calls him an idiot and, whilst walking backwards, jabs insistent fingers into Reyn's face. Dunban laughs and then he too is scolding Reyn when, after a particularly loud chuckle, Reyn uses his good leg to aim a hard kick into Dunban's knee. 

Shulk trails behind them, a few paces behind, and while he eventually joins in the lull of conversation, when Reyn speaks to him his face is stony and his voice is cold.

Dunban definitely notices, for he raises his eyebrows at Shulk, as if he _knows_ Shulk's exact thoughts, but he does not say anything. 

x

Much, much later that evening, he tells Dickson about it. He's rants to Dickson, about how even before today, Reyn has been acting more and more reckless, pulling dangerous stunts and following stupid dares. Dickson, as always, listens to Shulk's rants with half-interest, not interrupting but not entirely listening either. 

"Why does it bother you so much?" He asks, once Shulk is finished. 

And Shulk thinks about it for a moment, sits there and wonders why it bothers him so much when Reyn gets hurt, when he seems to not care about what happens to himelf, does stupid things for attention from others or just simply because he can. He already _knows_ , really, but he hadn't wanted to think about it. Hadn't wanted to admit the truth to himself.

It's because Shulk _cares,_ he realises. He _cares_ so much about Reyn. And, even at his age now, he doesn't like watching Reyn get hurt. There is still a piece of him that listens to the cold voice that haunts his dreams. Listens to that voice that isn't quite his own, the one that shouts in his head and tells him that nobody can be trusted. It is the voice that accompanies the edge of cold; the cold that returns when Shulk feels his anxiety spike, when thoughts that are not his own flash across his mind, control him in a way he fears. There is still that piece of him that fears his connection with them all. With Dunban and Dickson and Fiora and Reyn. But Reyn is the connection he fears the most, for although he loves the family he has created for himself, Reyn is something different entirely. 

x

Reyn's broken leg heals and then, only a few weeks later, it's his arm that's broken instead.

The cycle continues. Reyn does stupid things, he gets hurt, and Shulk gets angry with him. He does a better job of hiding it the next few times though. For he is not angry _at_ Reyn, but rather at the way he treats himself. The anniversary of the death of Reyn's parents approach once more, coinciding with their end of year exams, and Reyn gets worse and worse - thinks less and less and lets his impulsiveness take control of his actions. But Shulk, and Fiora, soon realise that Reyn becomes more reckless when he is upset. That his injuries follow the pattern of his mood. 

They go out of their way to try and cheer Reyn up, to try and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, but as summer begins to evolve into the coolness of autumn, Shulk finds himself unable to support Reyn in the way he wishes he could. The months get colder and he feels himself slipping lower and lower, an oppressive mood hangs over him that he cannot seem to shake.

He has attacks of anxiety, times when he cannot control his breathing and he becomes dizzy in a world that spins around him. Times when he feels a shadow clawing at his back, panic that builds and builds and builds and he cannot hope to quell. He tries to be there for Reyn, but he slips lower and lower, the pressures of the world slowly set up against him until he feels small and weak, trapped in a place he doesn't quite belong.

But then, despite it all, Reyn is by his side. Fiora too, for it is Fiora who teaches Reyn grounding techniques, ones that Reyn remembers when it is just him and Shulk, ones that Reyn uses; changes until they are at their most effective; until it is Reyn who Shulk seeks out when his panic builds. Reyn is more observant than people give him credit for. When Reyn deems something as important, he never forgets it; and while Homs history may fall out from one ear to the other, matters concerning Shulk are never forgotten. 

Besides, they're best friends. They've been looking out for one another for as long as they can remember. Sometimes Shulk has bad days and sometimes Fiora has them too, but Reyn is always there for them just like they're always there for him. They learn to manage with things, slowly get better and better at reading one another, get better and better at understanding what each of them want and what each of them need.

And as the three of them get older and older, Shulk looks at Reyn and feels nervous butterflies flutter in his stomach. They grow stronger and stronger with each passing day, no matter how hard he tries to push them down. When the other children their age begin to take their first steps into romance, when their classroom becomes filled with boyfriends and girlfriends (for that is convention, and Shulk has always feared standing out, drawing attention to himself. He prefers to fade in the background, to be a wallflower that goes unnoticed) but Shulk looks at the girls and feels _nothing_ , but looks at Reyn and feels those butterflies - much bigger now, not like the fluttering of delicate wings but instead like the beat of a bird, a nightingale trapped in his chest - and he doesn't know what to do about it. For Reyn too shows little interest in the other girls, although Shulk knows that this could change, perhaps in a few years time Shulk will realise that his feelings cannot be returned, that he must hide and pretend for he does not _want_ to be different. He wants to be like everyone else

He tries to place his attentions on Fiora, because she is pretty with her large green eyes, her blonde hair that she ties into intricate braids, creates swirling tiaras of blonde hair, ties leaves and twigs and flowers into the strands until she wears her own crown of flora. It does not work, for no matter how beautiful Fiora is, he does not love her like that. And, even when he tries his hardest, it doesn't feel right. 

So he looks at Reyn and feels those bird wings beating in his chest, thumping at his ribcage, and he plays it off as nothing, maybe it's just because him and Reyn are such good friends. Maybe that's what that feels like. 

He doesn't get the same feeling while he's around Fiora though, and he thinks he knows why. He doesn't want to admit it, not now. He is young, confused, perhaps. Maybe what he feels for Reyn is not what he thinks it is. Maybe, because Reyn was his first friend, the person Shulk has loved for the longest, he has confused his feelings. Maybe it isn't love, not like _that,_ and maybe Shulk is just overthinking it all.

Yet Reyn looks at him sometimes and Shulk can't help but wonder.

x

They turn twelve, then thirteen. Fiora and Shulk both hit their growth spurt, puberty hitting them like a bag of bricks to the face, leaving Reyn behind, still short. They'd always been a similar height for as long as they'd known one another, but now it is Shulk and Fiora who tower high above Reyn, for it seems they have shot up overnight. They laugh and they joke and they ruffle Reyn's hair just because they can, but then the growing pains hit and Shulk curses the way his knees ache and Fiora curses the clumsiness of her long limbs, for neither of them are accustomed to taking up so much room. 

But still, they can't help but laugh when Reyn - to his annoyance - can't reach the highest shelves of the cabinets. They aren't even that much taller than Reyn, not really, but even a couple of inches to them is proof that they are growing up, that in a few years they will be treading the limbo between childhood and adulthood, tracing the edges of independence with the tips of their toes, shedding their awkwardness to find their new paths in the world. 

Things also change when suddenly a new door in the world of love opens once more. Some of the childhood naivety, the shyness of new relationships when you are only ten or eleven, begins to melt away into something different. Awkward kisses in the playground, strange dares and games that Shulk avoids like the plague because he _still_ thinks kissing is gross. (Or, more accurately, he thinks kissing people who aren't Reyn sounds gross, but he pushes that thought out of his mind and simply pretends _all_ kissing is gross)

It is when Dorothy, who turns fourteen before everyone else, gets a _real_ boyfriend. Because, before, they had had their girlfriends and boyfriends and such but they didn't count - apparently. Because _now_ they were old enough to know what _real_ love was like, or at least that's what Desiree had said, when she had batted her eyelashes at Shulk and he'd (in a fit of awkwardness) sneezed on her. 

"I might not be as tall as you Shulk," Reyn had said between bellows of laughter, "but at least I don't sneeze in other girls' mouths." 

"It wasn't her mouth!" Shulk had rebuked hotly, his voice cracking at the ends, only making Reyn laugh harder. 

"Shut up!" He shoved him aside, turning his back to Reyn. But even so, he could not keep the smile off of his face when Reyn had stood on his tiptoes to wrap an arm over Shulk's shoulder. "Who needs girls anyway?" He'd said, a laugh in his voice but something more serious in his eyes. "We've got each other."

Shulk feels heat pool in his stomach, feels a blush rise to his cheeks and he kind of wants to _kiss_ Reyn. He puts that down to the stupid hormones though, making him act all weird and crazy, and he shrugs Reyn's touch off like it burns. He feels like this is a big moment, there is something he is supposed to understand, something he is supposed to connect. His instincts tell him to go for it, to lean into Reyn's touch and simply enjoy this moment for what it is; but Shulk rarely follows his instincts and instead he thinks. He thinks and he thinks and he thinks until he's convinced there is nothing here, no hidden meaning and nothing hiding under the surface. Reyn has never been subtle, why would he start now? 

He laughs, averting his gaze as he pulls himself away, slipping out of Reyn's loose hold. Desperately, he tries to avoid the way his heart sinks when a wounded expression flitters across Reyn's face. He thinks about it though. He thinks about it a lot, but he's still not quite sure what it means. 

x

Only one year later, only a short while after Reyn's fourteenth birthday, Shulk and Fiora grow to regret every single time they mocked Reyn for his height because - seemingly overnight - Reyn shoots up. He doesn't seem to _stop_ growing, and it's not long before it's Shulk and Fiora who have to look up at _him_ , as opposed to the other way round. He grows and he grows and not just in size, but also he begins to change. His voice, for starters. While Shulk's voice had cracked for what felt like _eons_ , and even by the end of it, it never grew as deep as he'd always imagined it would, Reyn's had cracked for only a few days before it had drastically deepened overnight. He also starts growing _facial hair_ , which is a foreign concept for Shulk, for his jaw is bare and smooth and shows absolutely no sign of any hair whatsoever. It doesn't exactly bother him, not on himself, but even after Reyn shaves he never loses the faintest shadow of hair on his jaw, just enough that Shulk sometimes catches himself staring at it and then feels his face grow hot and finds himself wishing for the Bionis to just simply swallow him whole. 

He still isn't the smartest, although Shulk and Fiora had spent hours and hours helping him - just enough that he could scrape by in his exams - but he's finding his own way of doing things, his own path in life. He grows tired of failing most of his exams, of the stress and the anxiety and the headaches and trying to fit into a mould that simply does not adhere to him. Fiora and Shulk help as much as they can, but Fiora, while intelligent and academic, struggles to follow the strange guidelines of the exams and finds herself with her own issues. Which leaves the task of teaching to Shulk, who excels in the tightly structured system, but is also an _awful_ teacher; for complicated concepts seem to just _make sense_ in his mind, and he struggles to comprehend how Reyn's brain works - for he has never really had to try. It has always come naturally to him.

While the three of them eventually realise that that reading becomes easier for Reyn when the paper is yellow and when the font is big and blocky, he still lacks interest in his studies. He is apathetic to the sciences, can't wrap his head around the history and geography and - even if he's slightly better than he once was - reading for too long still gives him headaches and still makes his eyes sore. But he's doing better and better, and although he still struggles and still can't focus properly, things are gradually getting easier and easier. Of course, there are bad weeks, bad days, as there are for them all, and getting older brings a whole new hoard of problems that follow, but they learn to deal with it all. And, when one of them stumbles, the other two are there to catch them. 

He still lives with Dunban and Fiora, for they have become like a family now, the three of them, but he's gaining independence, gradually coming into his own more and more. 

Dickson finds it hilarious, for some reason, when it is Reyn who figures out exactly what he wants to be doing in his life before everyone else. Fiora is experimenting from thing to thing, trying to find something that suits her, and Shulk is just sticking to what he's good at; praying that he will pursue the right path if he simply continues doing what he knows, but it is Reyn who takes the risks, Reyn who takes life by the horns and decides to do what everyone tells him _not_ to do, because he's never really followed convention anyway. Besides, nothing they taught in school had ever really managed to pique his interest, so what was the point of staying there? He was just wasting his time for the inevitable failure. Shulk and Fiora could only drag him through so many exams, and even if he did manage to pass, it's not like he'd actually want to pursue anything he's done in school anyway.

So Reyn drops out of school, just stops showing up, and applies to become a part of the defence force. 

He's too young, he's told almost instantly; too young by a good few years, in fact. But Reyn is impatient and insistent and he's goddamn stubborn when he wants to be. So when he is rejected the first time, he does not get demoralised, he does not return to school the next day, instead he asks again tomorrow. And then the day after, and then the day after that.

So, much to Dunban's simultaneous horror and amusement, Reyn spends most of his time badgering the utterly terrifying Colonel Vangarre to let him join the ranks. And, to Dickson and Mumkhar's _entire_ amusement, they watch in amazement as this kid just _walks up_ to Vangarre, only shaking a tiny bit, and just demands him to be taken on as a trainee. 

"He's got courage," Dickson says to Dunban one time. "He reminds me of you, when you were his age." 

Dunban groans into his hands, shakes his head. "I know. That's what makes it worse. I can't believe I was ever so… obstinate." 

Mumkhar laughs then, loud and free, banging the table with his fists, because Mumkhar is like that. Rough and callous and - if Shulk's being completely honest, a little off putting. He's had an edge to him ever since the fall of his colony, a dangerous sort of edge that Shulk doesn't quite trust. "Like yer not obstinate now," 

Dunban flushes with irritance, gives Mumkhar a hearty whack on his shoulder and folds his arms with a huff. For a moment, Shulk (who had just gone downstairs to get a drink) is taken aback by how much that gesture reminds him of Reyn. People have _always_ been saying that Reyn is like Dunban, and Shulk had never seen it, not until now. He can't imagine Reyn ever being as serious as Dunban though, nor Dunban ever being as hotheaded as Reyn. But they _are_ similar, in a lot of ways, and if the stories that Dickson tells Shulk are true; then Dunban was just as hotheaded as Reyn when he was their age. 

And Reyn does not listen to what anyone has to say. Even when everyone tells Reyn to _stop,_ to go back to school and to stop bugging Colonel Vangarre, he refuses. He gets rejected again and again and again, but he always returns to Shulk and Fiora with a broad grin on his face "I think I'm gettin' through to him!" He'll say, and Fiora's brow will crinkle in disbelief. "You mean, you're irritating him half to death? Vangarre's more likely to kiss a brog than let you onto the force!" But Reyn always tips his head back, reveals the sharp line of his throat, and laughs. 

"You'll see," he always says. "One of these days, they'll let me in. I definitely ain't gonna give up." And, after a few months of this, Shulk honestly starts to think that it's never going to happen. That Reyn's going to have to wait until he's old enough to join the force, for although Reyn is the most stubborn person Shulk has ever met, he thinks that Vangarre might get pretty close. It's almost like a race, a competition. The weakest will break first. There's bets on it now, Shulk knows for Dickson is egging Reyn on, pushing Reyn to try and irritate Vangaree even more. ("Mumkhar will owe me a lot of money if Vangarre breaks first," Dickson had said, blowing smoke rings out of the window. "Besides, I think if anyone is thick-headed enough to wear down Vangarre, it's Reyn." He pauses, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "I will say though, _when_ Reyn gets in, I won't envy him. Vangarre is going to make him _pay_ for these past few months. A good few thousand pushups won't even scratch the surface of it.")

So Reyn keeps on bugging Vangarre, who he's still slightly terrified of but Reyn's determination more than overrides his fears and there's no way he's going to stop now and let these past two months have been for nothing. 

And, eventually, to the bane of Mumkhar's wallet, it pays off.

It's difficult to say whether or not Reyn just managed to wear the colonel down to such a point that he just conceded with Reyn's demands as a way to shut him up (for that's what Vangarre had stubbornly said were the reasons) although - as Dickson mentions to Shulk in passing - it could be down to the fact that it's actually quite impressive that a fourteen year old voluntarily bugged Vangarre every single day for two months. Which, really, was a feat in itself. But Shulk also thinks, dare he say it, that Vangarre might have a soft spot for Reyn. He had, after all, known his parents relatively well. Perhaps this is his way of honouring their memory, of allowing their son to pursue his own goals, to follow his own path in life.

But soon Reyn, under Vangarre's orders, begins training. It is intensive and, just like Dickson had predicted, Vangarre makes sure that Reyn pays the price for bugging him non-stop for two whole months. Although, according to Reyn, he'd been expecting much worse.

Shulk asks him about it one day, asks him why he was so determined to join the force, why he did not give up when many others would have eventually just conceded defeat. Even Fiora is interested, for he stops what she is doing to listen to his answer, her eyes trained on Reyn's face, his eyes clearly reading his every thought, for Reyn has always been expressive and - if anything - as he's gotten older he has only become more so. 

He flushes under the attention, scrubs the back of his neck. His face heats up, the blush spreading across his dark ears, and Shulk can't help but notice how… _nice_ Reyn looks. Shulk's heart does somersaults in his chest for a flustered Reyn is a new sort of expression; and the way the dark red flush spreads across his dark skin, pinkens the broad tip of his nose, it's all very nice-looking. Shulk definitely doesn't feel his own face growing warm at the sight. Definitely not. One hundred percent. 

"I mean, my parents were in the defence force, so… I dunno, guess it makes me feel like I'm close to 'em or somethin'." He pauses, scrubbing at the back of his neck harder, teeth worrying the plumpness of his lower lip.

"Also, I want to protect people. Make sure nobody gets hurt. That's all I've ever wanted to do, look after the people I've cared about. If I can do that, then it don't matter what else happens to me. As long as you guys are safe, I'm happy."

Shulk feels the butterflies in his stomach return full force, the urge to kiss Reyn overtaking all of his senses. It's an urge he's growing more and more familiar with these days, one that's getting harder and harder to fight. And then Reyn looks at him, looks at him with his cheeks red and his eyes dark and Shulk thinks that maybe, just _maybe_ , Reyn might want to kiss him too. But Reyn is impulsive, Reyn does not sit around and wait, he takes action. He _does_ , if he _wanted_ to kiss Shulk, he would have done so by now. (Shulk does not stop to think that maybe Reyn wouldn't just get up and kiss him. Maybe Reyn understands Shulk all too well, and would rather follow Shulk's own wishes than lead with his own. Maybe Reyn _does_ want to kiss Shulk, but maybe he's just waiting for Shulk to make the first move)

He does not, however, go in for the kiss; for he does not think now is the right time. But he is certain of what this feeling is; he _knows_ why he has always felt this way - even as a child - when he looked at Reyn. 

_Love,_ he thinks. And it is a scary thing. He is young, foolish perhaps, and although there is still much of his life left to live, he knows he loves Reyn like he knows how to breathe. He loves Reyn like he knows Fiora is his family, Dickson and Dunban too. He knows this like he knows blinking, he simply _knows_ he loves Reyn. It is a terrifying thought, yet it is not. For it has always been there. These feelings are not new. He thinks he has loved Reyn all his life, and he cannot imagine a world where he does not. 

He thinks of the girls and boys his age, of how one by one they are beginning to pair off with one another. And Shulk has always been so scared of breaking convention, of standing out from the others, of being anywhere near the center of attention.

But, he thinks, that fear is gradually ebbing away. He thinks that it does not really matter what others would think of him. For Fiora wouldn't care, and he doubts Dickson or Dunban would either.

And Reyn? Even if his feelings weren't returned, his and Reyn's friendship runs a lot deeper than that. The roots of their bond are deep, solid in the earth below. Their friendship is a great old oak, one that could weather all the storms in the world and not move a single inch. One that cannot be dug up, cannot be blown by the winds or upturned by hurricanes. Their friendship is one that has always been there, one that _will_ always be there. 

No matter what happens, they will always have each other.

That is what Shulk thinks as he looks over at Reyn, who sits in the sunlight, only a few inches away. There is gold on his cheekbones, the warmth of fire in his eyes and Reyn _glows;_ glows bright like a firework in the night sky, an explosion of colour in a monochromatic world. 

Shulk sits in the shade, beneath the canopy of orange leaves. But he looks at Reyn, feels the warmth in his body spread from head to toe and, ever so carefully, he shifts. 

He moves closer to Reyn, their hands barely touching, and the sunlight beams down on him.

Fiora catches his eye and she looks down at his hand, the one nudging against Reyn's own, and the tiniest of smiles plays on her lips. 

x

As Reyn's training continues and the demands of school grow harder and harder to meet, the trio begin to spend less and less time together. Fiora and Shulk, of course, see each other every day. Their classes are not the same, although there are a few that they do share, but they are certain to see one another during their breaks, during the morning and when they walk home from school; always together.

They always make time for Reyn, always make sure that he is never left out, but his schedule as a trainee is wild and unpredictable. He works night shifts and day shifts and spends most of his time training. Vangarre had decided that Reyn would be treated like any other trainee. Just because of his age that did not mean he would be treated any differently from the others. Reyn had known what he had signed up for and - if he wanted to prove himself to the others in the force - he needed to prove himself as an _equal_ , to work alongside the others rather than be sheltered and kept safe. He was - of course - just a child, but if it ever became too much for him, Vangarre had said he could quit. "We'll welcome you back when you're old enough, kid." He'd said, a friendly hand (for when Vangarre was caught in a mild mood, he could be pleasant when he wished to be) on Reyn's shoulder. But Reyn, of course, had shaken his head; adamantly refused. "Well then," Vangarre had continued, his lips tugged up at the edges with an amused grin, not unlike that of a Volff. "What are you doing, slacking about? Get back to work, recruit!" And when Vangarre said _get back to work_ , he meant it. Shulk had never realised just how much _work_ there was for the defence force soldiers, but he supposed it _was_ a full-time job. (Reyn's monthly wages proved just that) Reyn never seemed to mind though. He seemed content with the work, happier than Shulk had ever seen him at school. He could _focus_ as a soldier, and he was _good_ at it. 

It does, however, come at the cost of their time together. For Reyn gets less and less time for himself as his training grows more and more vigorous, he learns how to service his weapons for Reyn had found he worked best with a shield driver, the sort of weapon that doubled as both as a sword and a shield - the perfect weapon for someone like Reyn, who wanted to devote his life to the protection of others. He learns other things too, like how to use the mobile artillery, and - although he was _definitely_ not supposed to - he shows Fiora and Shulk how to use it, simply because it's _cool_ and Reyn, although older, is still brash and bold and constantly does _everything_ without even stopping to think. It had been fun, though. Slightly terrifying for Shulk had constantly been on edge, thinking that Vangarre would burst in at any minute and _explode_. But they had managed, somehow, to get away with it. 

But Reyn's boldness is actually what makes him such an effective fighter, for he trusts his gut and his instincts and he does not get bogged down with _what ifs._ He is not like Shulk, he can make a decision on the fly, he can trust himself to do the right thing almost instantly. Reyn is much more black and white than either Shulk or Fiora, he sees things for what they are, and his decisions reflect that. Although his emotions do sometimes get the better of him, something which Vangarre is trying to train him out of, although Shulk privately thinks that Reyn's emotions are what makes him all the stronger. He is a _homs,_ and he feels deeply. It is Reyn's morals which drive him, his desire to protect. While his emotions can cloud his view, make him rash and unpredictable and - more often than not - result in him putting himself in harm's way, Reyn is _determined_ and _strong._ He knows his own strengths just as she knows his own weaknesses and - for the most part - he is aware of what he can and cannot handle. 

However, in daily life, it means that whenever Reyn _does_ have free time it's usually wasted because he's been ordered to do a thousand push-ups once more. or perhaps run around the colony until he passes out. (a genuine punishment Reyn has been given by none other than Colonel Vangarre) So their time together grows less and less frequent, and Shulk begins to spend more and more time with it just being him and Fiora.

He worries, at first, that Reyn would grow jealous, feel left out of such things; but he soon realises that Reyn simply isn't one of those people. Unlike Shulk, who has the nasty habit of over-analysing every little thing, overthinking every situation until his own mind warps it into something it just really _isn't,_ Reyn takes a much more simple approach. He spends less time with Shulk and Fiora because their schedules do not coincide. It is the truth, and Reyn is correct to think exactly that, but it always amazes Shulk how Reyn can see things in such a way, not doubt himself and not think that the world is against him. Reyn is confident, so comfortable in his own skin.

Or maybe Reyn does think like that sometimes. It would be foolish of Shulk to say that Reyn does not have doubts, does not have insecurities, for he _knows_ that Reyn does. He has _seen_ them. Watched Reyn grow up with the sharp sting of the word _stupid,_ the way his mind cannot work with letters and numbers but works with colours, with his hands and actions. But perhaps Reyn does not think that Shulk and Fiora are forgetting about him, replacing him, for a different reason.

Perhaps it is because he simply _trusts_ Shulk and Fiora, and he trusts that they would never purposefully leave him out - not willingly, anyway. And - if Reyn ever gets such doubts - he dismisses them, for he truly believes that Shulk and Fiora would _never_ betray his trust like that, never go behind his back. For Reyn is loyal and Reyn has placed the very threads of his life into the hands of Shulk and Fiora. For (as he has told them both many a time) Reyn loves the two of them dearly. They are more than friends. They are a _family,_ it is them together, for the rest of their lives. For they may grow older and they may see less and less of each other, their lives could lead them down different paths and they could make new friends, make new families, but it will _always_ be them. No matter what happens. 

But Reyn 's absence soon becomes commonplace, and although Shulk and Fiora miss his presence greatly, Reyn is adamant that - if he cannot make it - they still hang out together anyway. He does not want to hinder their friendship, to become the reason for cancelled plans and the catalyst for days out cancelled. He is content to join them when he can, for he trusts them with his whole heart, and they trust him too. They do not need to do everything together, for they have lives outside one another's presence and now, at this age, that has grown ever-more apparent. 

As time passes and Shulk and Fiora spend more and more time alone - without Reyn - rumours start to spread and, apparently, him and Fiora are now dating. 

It's not true, not at all, for Shulk loves Fiora very much but he couldn't _date_ her, not when she feels like more of a sister than… anything else. Besides, Shulk… even without Reyn, has yet to take interest in _any_ girl. Or any boy, really. He doesn't even think it's because his heart is set on Reyn. He just thinks that, perhaps, he doesn't like girls in that way. Perhaps he never will. And he can't see himself with anyone other than someone like Reyn. He could not be with someone who he does not know, he could not jump into a relationship with whoever he pleases, not like others his age. He likes the familiarity, he likes Reyn because he _knows_ him; because it has _always_ been Reyn and he really couldn't imagine it being anyone else. 

But Reyn, upon hearing the rumours, had asked them about it adamantly the next time they had met. A flash of hurt that wasn't quite justified had burned in his eyes, a tightness to his voice that had tightened his shoulders, straightened his back. He had calmed down as soon as he realised the two weren't actually together, melted into the relaxed, carefree Reyn that Shulk was more used to, but the forlorn expression that had blustered across his face lingers in Shulk's mind, long after the exchange has taken place. 

He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but part of him wishes with all his heart that there is a chance in this world that his feelings could be returned. 

x

It's one night, two days before Fiora turns fifteen, where her and Shulk are sat at outlook park, the darkened sky glistening with stars like tearshed, far above them. 

They sit there in silence, a quiet sort of peace that only the two of them can have, for Reyn and noise seem to go hand in hand. Not that neither her nor Shulk mind, for Reyn brings his own kind of happiness with him, but sometimes it is nice for the two of them to have a break. Enjoy the little things, the smaller beauties of the world that pass by others unnoticed. But then Fiora shifts, leans against Shulk and looks up at him, the moonlight casting the shadow of her eyelashes far across her cheekbones. She's a warm weight against him, a familiar touch that Shulk leans into. She clasps his hand in hers, intertwines their fingers with a smile. Shulk squeezes her hand, a familiar gesture that they have done thousands of times before. 

"You _like_ Reyn, don't you." She says, and there is no mocking, no malice in her voice, but Shulk instantly freezes. The panic rises in him, the familiar cold sweeping through his skin and leaving his teeth chattering. He feels the air leave his lungs, feels as if he is drowning, sinking into water that _is not there_ , but he can feel it against his skin, _feel it,_ and it's cold, it's so _cold._ He tries to breathe in but he can't, it catches in his throat and his lungs burn, they sting like the burn of nettles against his bare legs, like the sting of a wasp in the palm of his hand. Fiora instantly notices his panic, notices the way his breathing has tightened, his eyes have blown wide and blurry, as though he is in a distant place, his head far away from here.

She squeezes his hand once, rubs her fingers across his knuckles in the same soothing gesture that Reyn always does when he gets like this. She breathes slowly, loud enough that Shulk can hear, that he can count the seconds and ground himself with her own inhales and exhales. He sucks the air between his teeth, a sharp whistling sound bursting into the night. He flinches.

"No, no! I don't mind! I think it's cute. You two would make a cute couple." her voice is calm, soothing, but it is laced with a panic that she can't quite quell. Shulk manages a weak smile at her, his vision still blurry but his eyes slowly regaining their focus as he controls his breaths. She smiles back, her teeth showing, and her eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the edges.

"Y-you mean, you don't mind that… I like... "

"That you like guys? No. What difference does it make?" Shulk feels himself relax, feels the pent up tension drain from his body. A weight he hadn't realised he'd been carrying is lifted from his shoulders and he feels suddenly exhausted. Not in a bad way, though. He feels… _relieved._ As though he is glad this part of him is out there, out in the open, not kept locked inside his own mind for him to stew over. 

In moments such as these, Fiora reminds Shulk of Reyn. Simple and straightforward. Saying exactly what they think with not even a dollop of falsehood in them. And Shulk… well, he agrees with her. What difference does it make? It's not something that he would want to shout to the rooftops, to have _everyone_ know, but Shulk is shy and nervous and he likes things to be kept to himself. Maybe _some_ people have a problem with things such as this, but not Fiora. Not Dunban or Dickson, and definitely not Reyn. And those are the most important people to Shulk. He… he does not care what other people think. Not about this. Maybe in other parts of his life he cares about other opinions, what people say and think about him, (Dickson always made sure to tell him that he worried too much. Reyn too. They're probably right) but not in this. Not when it comes to Reyn. 

He's not ready for anyone to know yet. Anyone other than Fiora, but he thinks that - some day soon - he might eventually work up the courage to tell Reyn how he feels. Part of him, a very hopeful part of him, thinks there's a chance that his affections might be returned. 

"Besides," Fiora continues, clearing her throat. "I'm the same. I mean, not 'the same', but I like girls." 

Shulk blinks, looks down at her. He smiles. 

"That's cool." He says. Because, like Fiora had just said, _what difference does it make?_ She's still Fiora, still the girl he grew up with, the girl who has been his best friend for almost a decade. The girl who has stood beside him through thick and thin, who has stood beside him, her and Reyn, and held him up when he has been at his very lowest. 

"It is." She agrees. 

It's only when they're walking back to the colony, arm in arm, swaying on their feet as they stroll under the midnight light, that a thought pops into Shulk's head.

"Does Reyn know?" He asks. 

A flicker of guilt crosses Fiora's face. "Yeah. I told him a while back. But that's only because he told me- uh, it came up in conversation. I, uh, look; I can't say anything about it but-" she pauses, stopping dead in her tracks. She looks up at Shulk, her eyes serious. "Bring it up to him sometime. Maybe it'll go better than you think." And then, with a swift kiss on the cheek and a laugh, Fiora disentangle her arm from his, runs ahead. Her feet thump like rainfall on the tiled pavings of Colony Nine, her smile bright and beaming even under the darkness of night. "See you tomorrow!" She shouts, and it's all Shulk can do to wave her goodbye as she disappears, her hair glowing under the twinkle of starlight.

He watches her go, feels elation curl in his gut, burst like fireworks in his bloodstream. Technicolour light streams from his eyes and Shulk is reminded of his old dreams, the ones with that strange voice, that neverending coldness. He sees that light from his eyes, the one that bursts forth in sickness plague, and he banishes it with his own type of light. Green and red, of Fiora's eyes and Reyn's hair. The colours that make up his life, that shine like a spectrum in the very depth of his soul.

He hears that voice in his head, the one that has always been there, that has always followed him around; whispered in his ear the dark thoughts, the impulsive thoughts that Shulk had always tried to ignore. But now he does not ignore it, for he does not need to. Instead, he sways through Colony Nine like a drunkard, feeling the light pour from his skin in droves of rainbow colour. He smiles into the darkness, feels the glow of starlight against his skin. The other voice in his head, the one that has followed him around like a sickness all of his life, is banished. 

He feels light, feels free in a way he has never felt before. He knows there is still a long way to go, still much that needs to be said and courage he must build up, but for now; things are perfect.

That voice in his head does not bother him again. (Not until he is eighteen years old, and the light of Fiora's eyes is taken away)

x

As Reyn's training continues, Shulk begins to notice… some changes in Reyn that really can't be ignored.

Fiora's almost seventeen now and, despite himself, Shulk still hasn't worked up the courage to say anything to Reyn. He's awkward and he's not good at talking about his feelings, nor about being so open or honest. Besides, he's finding it harder and harder to talk to Reyn these days. Not because they're any less close, in fact, it's the opposite sort of problem. They're… _too close._

Reyn hadn't stopped growing, even after he hit his growth spurt, and while Fiora and Shulk had not grown perhaps as much as they would like, Reyn had just… never stopped. At six foot three, he was an entire foot taller than Fiora and Shulk, even when stood on the tips of his toes, only just came up to the broad line of Reyn's shoulders. 

That, too. _Broad._ Through a mix of genetics (for pictures of Reyn's parents were commonplace in Dunban's house, hung on the wall proudly next to an old image of Dunban and Fiora's own parents) but more through a mix of hard work and training, Reyn was… well, _very_ physically fit. He had always been strong for his age, but now he was incredibly so, and where Shulk had always thought he himself had remained gangly and skinny, Reyn was muscular, broad and comfortable in his own body. 

And Reyn was still just as touchy-feely as he had always been when he was younger. Constantly, he would hug Fiora and Shulk, kiss them on their foreheads, (which had started out as a joke due to his height, but now it's just… _nice_ , and a bit embarrassing, but also Shulk just… he _really_ likes it) he would sling his arm over their shoulders and smile and laugh and show his affection freely, for Reyn's heart is big and he has more than enough love to go around. 

And Reyn trains harder and harder and he grows stronger and stronger. His facial hair grows in thicker now, and while he still shaves it he grows in sideburns that Fiora mercilessly mocks him for but Shulk… well, he kind of likes them, if he's being honest. Reyn's face matures too. His jaw more square, sharper than it ever was, and his face shadowed by strong, angular cheekbones. His nose is crooked from where Monica, during a training session, had punched him so hard in the face he'd broken it. (Reyn had broken his nose many times throughout the years, although this time his nose was never quite the same) He has a scar on his upper lip, so faint you wouldn't even know it's there unless you were looking for it, and his hands are broad and large and calloused. 

He has more scars, everywhere. Some from his childhood, some that Shulk remembers Reyn getting, like the one on the palm of his hand when - whilst helping Fiora cut vegetables - his hand had slipped on the knife. The one on his knee from the time he split his shin on the hard paving of Outlook Park. The scar on the side of his head, where his hair didn't grow quite so thickly, from the time he split his head open when he fell out of an open window. 

But there are new scars, ones that Shulk does not know as well, ones that Reyn has gotten out in the field. But Shulk wants to learn them, wants to know every piece of Reyn just as he wants Reyn to know every piece of him. He _knows_ he loves Reyn, he's known for years, but he still can't work up that courage, still can't just come out and say it.

He has known Reyn all his life. He remembers those days, all those many years ago, when he had confused jealousy for hatred, told himself he _hated_ Reyn for all that he had; hated Reyn for the fact that - through the lenses of a child's eyes - he had got everything Shulk so desperately wanted. He remembers that changing, remembers how he had seen that Reyn too was lonely; that Reyn hid his own sadness in a different way than Shulk's. Whereas Shulk was desperate to hide, desperate to stay hidden from the world, Reyn was desperate to be _seen_.

He remembers it all, from that first day they became friends. When Reyn had played with Shulk over his other mates, when he had decided that Shulk was fun, that _Shulk_ was who he wanted to spend his time with. Shulk will never forget that, for although he had not realised it all those years ago, it was the first time Shulk had ever truly felt like he belonged in the colony, like he had a place here. 

Shulk looks at Reyn, looks up at his familiar face, looks into those eyes that, no matter how old he gets, are never any less bright. Shulk looks up at Reyn and thinks of what they have been through. Of their time spent together, of the absence of Reyn's parents, of their deaths and the sadness that had followed. He thinks of his own anxiety, of the way it had spiralled, skyrocketed out of control as he had grown older and older, and how both Reyn and Fiora had always been there to bring him back down, to soothe him, to help himself become grounded once more. 

He remembers it all and he _knows_ that he loves Reyn. He's still young, there's still so much of his life yet to live, but he _knows_ that he will never not love Reyn. For while Dickson is like a father, Dunban like an uncle and Fiora like a sister, Reyn is something different entirely.

While Shulk had never truly known his blood-family, could never fully remember the faces of his parents, he had been lucky enough to forge his own. To find his own family, one that he had chosen, one that he had built around him. 

And there is Reyn, in the centre of it all. Someone special, someone so special that Shulk can't even put it into words. 

But it is Reyn. It has _always_ been Reyn. Reyn who Shulk loves with all of his heart. 

x

Yet it is in the midst of summer heat, when the three of them decide to go swimming in the lakebed surrounding the colony in an effort to escape the scalding heat, that Shulk runs into a _very_ apparent issue. One he hadn't really thought about clearly when he'd agreed so readily to come along this morning. 

Because, _oh wow,_ Reyn is shirtless. And _oh wow,_ yeah, uh, he's definitely, uh, _abs._ And Shulk realises all over again that _yes,_ _he's ridiculously besotted over this idiot._ He can't remember a time when he _wasn't_ , for even when he adamantly denied his feelings to himself, Shulk's pretty certain he's _always_ had a bit of a thing for Reyn. Or, at the very least, Reyn has always been someone very special in his life. 

And Fiora is giving him the side-eye, giving him that _look_ and Shulk _hates_ it because she's _right_ and _gods Shulk should really tell Reyn how he feels_ . But also Reyn is looking at Shulk now, because he's sort of been staring at Reyn's stomach for _way_ too long and suddenly all the words have died in Shulk's throat and he can't even _think_ straight because… _oh._

And, looking at Reyn; the boy who glows in the sun and has warm fire in his eyes, soft auburn hair that reflects the light in spectrum colours, Shulk _knows_ he's in love.

He can't help but look down at his own body. Too pale, a slightly pudgy stomach from too much time spent indoors and too much of Fiora forcing him to eat everything she makes, spindly legs and gangly arms that he doesn't think he'll ever grow into. He feels self-conscious, the sudden urge to run and hide, to disappear from the warmth of Reyn's eyes. Blood pools at his cheeks and he hates being so ridiculously pale for Shulk is _certain_ that his skin has gone all blotchy. 

But Reyn is looking at him, the water lapping at his feet and the golden light shining behind him. He looks at Shulk and Shulk feels the breath leave his lungs. He can't breathe, his heart is trapped in his throat and blood pounds in his ears. Reyn looks at him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his own blush sporting his own darker skin. 

And then Reyn smiles, like daybreak, and then he's walking towards Shulk, sweat glistening on his broad shoulders, the thick muscles of his biceps and his abdomen. And then, without warning, he's effortlessly heaved Shulk up into his arms.

Privately, Shulk flushes hot at the fact that Reyn had literally just swept him off of his feet with little to no effort whatsoever, because _oh wow Reyn can just do that,_ but outwardly he's a spluttering, slightly terrified mess. The high pitched squeal that - without warning - involuntarily springs from his lips has him even more embarrassed. _Can the Bionis just make him disappear right about now?_ Fiora is cackling from behind him, doubled over in laughter that shakes her from head to toe, and Shulk can feel the vibrations of Reyn's bare chest against his skin. It's warm, slightly damp, and Shulk kind of doesn't want to leave. But he also does, because Reyn is laughing and Shulk is experiencing too many emotions now to even know where to _start_ with this. 

But then Reyn is wading through the water, deeper and deeper, ice cold water spraying up at Shulk's bare stomach, making him _squeal_ again because he _really_ wasn't prepared for this, and then suddenly, with a shout, Shulk is flung out of his arms, landing with a loud splash in water that feels like _ice._

He comes up spluttering, the dregs of his hair dripping into his eyes. Reyn is hollering, crying with laughter and Fiora seems to be having trouble _breathing,_ if the wheezing sort of noise she's making is anything to go by.

But Shulk sits there, half-submerged in the water with the summer sun hot against his bare shoulders. He looks up at Reyn, remembers the boy who he had once hated with all his heart. The boy who he had jeered at with the others, mocked when he could not read and laughed when he did not understand the things he was being told. The boy who he had called _stupid,_ for that is what the others had said and Shulk had believed them.

Shulk remembers Reyn when they first became friends, when Reyn was all he had in the world. When he would be invited around to stay the night and Reyn's parents would - when they were there, treat him like their own son . He remembers their faces, his mother who was severe, a force to be reckoned with, but was always so gentle with Reyn, always so kind to Shulk. He remembers Reyn's father, who had planted Dahlias in the front garden simply because they were the favourite of Reyn's mother. He looks at Reyn and sees both of his parents within him. The strength of his mother, the loyalty and wildness that she had always shown. The pride she had taken in herself, the confidence she had always held. The gentleness of his father, his desire to protect others - no matter the cost - and his determination, his tenacity to never give up.

He remembers the way Reyn had always chosen _him,_ all those many years ago, told Shulk so openly and so freely that they were best friends, that - if Shulk wanted - he'd like to be best friends forever and ever.

Shulk remembers it all so vividly, each and every moment. When Reyn had first introduced him to Fiora, the younger sister of Dunban; the one who would sometimes stop by at Reyn's to check on him when his parents were both away. When Shulk had still been shy and withdrawn, still yet to truly emerge from his shell, but Reyn had made him feel at ease, made him feel warm and safe and it hadn't taken long before Fiora too became a part of his new family - the family he had forged for himself. The one that was not made of ice and cold and emptiness, but instead of the stained-glass glimmer of dragonfly wings, the laughter under a twilight sky and the sunlight that would no longer cast him in shadow. 

He remembers that awful day, when Dickson and Dunban had knocked at the door and Reyn had shouted, screamed, cried something awful. Of the pain of those next few weeks, of the pain that never truly left; even now, but slowly learned to heal. The scars that faded, the memories that would soon grow faint and would reopen that wound of their absence, but still they would learn to heal. 

He remembers being by Reyn's side through it all. Watching the two of them grow older, of winter evenings spent huddled around the fire, Fiora on his right and Reyn on his left. Of the three of them, together until the end.

Their linked fingers, their promises forever. _Forever and ever, until death do us part._ He sees it all in his mind, sees the past connected like a trail of stars, a constellation forming a story that he knows so well; for it is his own story, the one he has forged with Reyn and Fiora by his side. 

When Shulk thinks of his 'family', of his parents of flesh and blood, his vision is fuzzy. He remembers the cold, the biting winds. The loneliness. There is a shadow of a warm hand, of a beaming smile, but there is nothing to hold on to. Like water, the image flitters through his fingers, seeping through the gaps of his hands. He cannot get a grasp of it, there is nothing for him to hold on to, nothing for him to truly remember. 

And then he thinks of his new family, the one not tied with blood but instead forged by the bonds he has made. Of Dickson and Dunban and Fiora and Reyn.

Their memory is crystal clear. Their faces, their voices, their tears and their laughter, Shulk knows it like he knows himself. Like his own reflection in the mirror, he can trace the image of his lives with his eyes shut. He knows it like he knows how to breathe, how to walk and talk and smile. He knows this new family for it is the one he has chosen, the one that he has found. And, most importantly, it is the one that makes him happy. Happier than he ever thought possible. 

So, from the coolness of water, Shulk looks up at Reyn, the way he glows like fire, orange flame reflecting off of the cold blue of water. 

He thinks of what Reyn would do, of what he has always been doing. Of how he is honest, of how his actions reflect his thoughts, of how he simply _does_ because he wants to, because he believes in it.

He thinks of Reyn's kindness, of the way he is solid, like rock, by Shulk's side. Of how he wants to protect, how he wants to like and be liked. How he shows his love, makes sure that those who are dear to them always know it. (For he knows all too well that lives are fleeting, and a chance must be taken in the fear that the chance will never arise again)

And then Shulk thinks of the hints, throughout the years. The touches and the glances and the strange emotions that Shulk had always drawn up as hopeful thinking.

He sees it all laid before him, he reads them like a storybook, feels the words deep in his soul as though they have always been there, always been within him. Reyn, he realises, had gone slowly for _him_. He had stopped, slowed down, been subtle where he was usually not, given Shulk the time to sort his own feelings out. 

Reyn had not acted for he had known Shulk too well. Known that he would need time to think, time to consider. For Reyn knows that Shulk is not like himself, not brash and bold and wild, who does things because he wants to, who follows the will of his heart freely, damn the consequences. But Reyn who would never willingly hurt Shulk, would never willingly put those he loves in harm's way. Reyn, who would sacrifice himself for others in a heartbeat, who would do _anything_ to ensure those he cares about are happy, content. 

Shulk _knows_ what Reyn said to Fiora that night, over two years ago now, the one that had changed things for Shulk had realised that he was not alone, that it was okay that he did not follow the convention, follow the 'norm'. That, although he was different from so many others, there were still many who are like him. He is certain now, though. He knows what Fiora would not divulge, (for the secret was never hers to share) the question that Shulk was too scared to ask.

He is not scared now, though. He _knows_ this like he knows the back of his hand. He _knows_ exactly what he wants to do.

Reyn is always telling him to have more confidence, to _believe_ in himself. So he does. 

He barrels over to Reyn, flings his arms around his neck and holds him close. A deep exhale, to soothe his racing nerves. He breathes in the scent of dirt, of fresh rainfall and the sunlight dappling through the leaves of trees. Breathes it all in, for it is _Reyn._ He lets himself relax, gives himself just a moment to collect his nerves once more and, before he can lose his burst of confidence, he pushes his lips onto Reyn's and lets his eyes flutter shut. 

There are no fireworks, there are no explosions. There is no crackle in his chest or grand event that turns his insides out. It is not perfect, for his teeth clack against Reyn's and their noses bump and Shulk shivers as a gust of wind blows by, goosebumps rising on his chilled skin. 

Instead, it is like the embers of a fire. Golden and warm, gentle. Fills him with warmth from his head down to the very tips of his toes. It is warm and safe and _familiar,_ just like Reyn. It's everything he's ever wanted. 

And when he pulls away, his cheeks flaming red, looks into Reyn's dark eyes, counts the freckles spattered on his cheeks, he smiles. A smile from his soul down, from the very center of his heart; and Reyn - with his own cheeks just as red - smiles back. 

In the background, he hears Fiora's cheer, followed by a rueful _finally._ But he ignores it, for Reyn is kissing him once more, smiling against his lips. They pull apart, laughing, and Reyn looks down at Shulk, places a gentle kiss against his forehead. 

"Sorry it took so long." He whispers, face resting in the crook of Reyn's collarbone. 

Reyn laughs, a deep rumble that vibrates through Shulk like gentle thunder. "I would have waited, no matter how long it took. Anythin' for you, Shulk."

x

Some things change after that day bit - for the most part - things remain much of the same. 

Dickson figures it out almost instantly, for he has an uncanny ability of _reading_ Shulk, something which is both impressive as it is kind of creepy. Dunban knows (due to an embarrassing scenario that _all_ of them would rather forget, involving Reyn's hand, Shulk's pants and Dunban, arriving home earlier than expected) and Fiora, of course, was there when it happened. Mumkhar, Shulk thinks, also knows, because he always seemed to laugh whenever Reyn or Shulk came anywhere near him, with an embarrassed looking Dunban smacking at his arm. No doubt that embarrassing event would stick around to haunt the three of them, especially if Mumkhar had anything to do with it. 

Shulk doesn't really care who else knows, if he's being honest. He doesn't need anyone else to know and he doesn't really care what anyone else thinks of him. Not about this anyway. 

But there are still things that remain the same. Shulk and Fiora are in their final year of school, their exams coming up in only a few weeks. Shulk's excited for them to be over, for he has figured out what he wants to do afterwards. He has always taken interest in Dickson's tinkering in the lab; and with the monsters outside the colony growing stronger and the threat of Mechon growing ever-nearer, weapons are needed more than anything right now. The Monado has fallen into Dunban's hands, for he has proven an affinity with it that all others have lacked. But one weapon, no matter how powerful, cannot take down an entire army of Mechon. Shulk knows his strengths do not lie in battle, not out in the field, but he knows that he can _help,_ knows that, if he can research the Monado more, he can perhaps figure out its secrets. Maybe, one day, his research will help them form their own weapons that can damage the Mechon, their own weapons that can help them win this war. 

Fiora still isn't quite sure what she wants to do, for she has an affinity for cooking _and_ fighting, and she is unsure whether to apprentice under Giorgio or try her hand in the defence force. She does not rush herself, though. For right now she feels as if she has all the time in the world to figure things out. She can wait a few years, test the waters before she devotes herself to one career.

But once that is all over, once school is finished and their exams are done, it will allow for Reyn and Shulk (and Fiora) to spend more time with one another once more.

And Reyn, who is treated like an official member of the defence force - although by name he is a trainee, for by technicality he is still not yet old enough to even be in the force, although in just a few weeks he will be seventeen and in just a few weeks he will be placed on active duty - has a schedule that can actually be followed now, rather than Vangarre's hell of a timetable, which Reyn swears was made to try and get him to quit the force. (Of course, Reyn's age comes as a small blessing, for although they did not realise it just yet, had Reyn been only a few weeks older, he too would have been sent out to Sword Valley) 

But, all in all, things continue as they always have. The only thing that's really different is that now when Shulk meets up with Reyn, it is not with a smile that they greet one another but instead it is with a kiss. Reyn is warm and safe, a constant comfort that Shulk seeks out whenever he can, and when the two of them are together; Shulk feels invincible. By Reyn's side, he feels as if he could do anything. As if he could take on the Bionis' itself.

They take things slowly, for the most part. Enjoying their time whilst they have it. There is no rush, they think, for they had made their promises; an unbreakable bond formed with the linking of their pinky fingers all those years ago, and they won't go on breaking them now. 

**Author's Note:**

> god i love these two dorks. i would give monolith my soul to make these two canon kjfhdsjkfh imagine


End file.
